Waiting for an Echo
by One Good Sonnet
Summary: Elizabeth, having given her heart once only to have it trampled on, finds it difficult to trust again. Yes, it is ridiculous for her to consider Darcy, who is expected to wed either his cousin or the rich Miss Baker, as a potential suitor. P&P Regency.
1. Chapter I

**Title:** Waiting for an Echo**  
****Authors:** Sillimaure and Deja Know I Been Lookin For Vu**  
****Rating:** Some violence and attempted rape. Possible mild language.**  
****Disclaimer:** We don't own Pride and Prejudice, but this story is ours.**  
****Major Characters: **Elizabeth, Darcy, Jane, Bingley, Kitty, Lady Catherine, Anne, Georgiana, and others.**  
****Summary:** Elizabeth, having given her heart once only to have it trampled on, finds it difficult to trust again. Yes, it is ridiculous for her to consider Darcy, who is expected to wed either his cousin or the rich Miss Baker, as a potential suitor. P&P Regency**.  
****Authors' Note:** This collaboration is the result of hours upon hours of brainstorming and hard work, in which we both learned much about the planning of a good story; we hope everyone reading this will enjoy the fruits of our labors. After careful consideration, we did create a couple of original characters, but we haven't really left anyone out--though you _will_ find everyone's situations altered. The title was inspired by the below quote, which we are applying to Elizabeth and Darcy. Please note updates on this story will occur weekly on Sundays (at least initially), and we hope our writing is able to keep ahead of the posting schedule. All feedback is welcome. This initial chapter is very short, but the following ones are generally longer.**  
****Authors' Thanks:** Thanks to Sillimaure's sister for looking over our story ideas and making suggestions. Thanks to Trollope's Barchester Towers for inspiration on a scene with Lady Catherine.

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_"I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all."_

_--Richard Wright_

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CHAPTER I

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when a single man in possession of good fortune attends a dance, he is desirous of finding the companion of his future life.

The above maxim was put to the test one night in Hertfordshire when two young men--who it was thought fit the description--were expected to attend such a gathering. On this night, the inhabitants of the area surrounding the little town of Meryton were enjoying the unseasonably fine weather, which had remained moderate and warm despite the fact that calendar showed it to be the fifteenth of October. The assembly which was to be held was of special significance and interest for the locals, as the fine estate of Netherfield, which had remained vacant for many months, was now let at last to a young man of a large fortune who happened to be accompanied in his residence by his closest--and, more importantly, single--friend. Of course, the mothers of young Meryton women, who were very assured of the universal nature of the aforementioned truth, had already known, within two days of the men's arrival at the estate, the relative size of each young man's fortune. Indeed, the mothers of the area had been frequently whispering about the situations of the young men, and many a maternal imagination was awash with visions and dreams of future riches for their daughters as the wives of these young men, for such a catch was generally not to be found in the area. And now there were _two_ available and wealthy men! It went without question that any of the mothers of the area would gladly assist these young men in their search for a companion by offering their daughters forth. Such an arrangement would be mutually beneficial, as the young men would find their quest shortened and the mothers would no longer need to fret over their daughters' futures.

Unfortunately, one of those men--a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, who was said to have at least ten thousand pounds a year--defied any efforts they made to ensure their daughters' situations with his foul countenance and incorrigible pride. At first, Mr. Darcy was said to be the more handsome of the two men, but it was soon proclaimed that Mr. Charles Bingley--with his four or five thousand a year--was infinitely more agreeable. He, at least, would dance with the young ladies of Meryton. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, refused to do anything but talk to his sister Georgiana, though he made occasional tight-lipped exchanges with others as necessary. The sixteen-year old Georgiana, it was soon decided, was a delightful young girl; it was quite unfortunate that she should have such a terribly proud and unapproachable man as a brother.

But perhaps before discussing the assembly any further, we should visit an event which occurred before it.

Elizabeth Bennet, being a single woman who was _not_ in possession of good fortune, and being someone who was by no means desirous of finding the companion of her future life at this particular point in time, chose not to go to the assembly.

Elizabeth's choice was railed against by her youngest sister, Lydia, and even her dear twin sister Jane expressed some distress at her decision to forego such an entertainment.

"Are you certain you do not wish to go with us, Lizzy?" inquired Jane.

But Elizabeth noted that she had a headache and would derive no pleasure from the assembly at all. The sweet Jane, who was not one to argue with her elder sister, ceased her pursuit of the issue.

Elizabeth's mother, Mrs. Bennet, did not let the issue pass, however, and she was especially loud in protesting her daughter's decision. "Not going to the ball? Why, Lizzy, I will never understand this aversion you have developed to dancing! After all, there was a time in which you were just as eager to dance as the next girl. Though, of course, that was when a certain young man had struck your fancy--"

"Mamma!" said Elizabeth sternly, her cheeks coloring.

Kitty, the second youngest of the Bennet sisters, chose that moment to come to Elizabeth's rescue, calling out to her mother, "Are you certain my dress is fine enough for the assembly, Mamma?"

Mrs. Bennet, who could not help but be tempted by a call to examine the appearance of one of her five daughters, turned away to go inspect the item of clothing, allowing her eldest daughter to make her escape up to her room.

Soon, the other ladies of Longbourn had departed, leaving their father and Elizabeth to their solitude and their books.


	2. Chapter II

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for their reviews. This chapter is longer than the first, but we are still in the setting up phase of the story. We hope you enjoy!

**CHAPTER II**

Even with Mr. Darcy's unfortunate manners in evidence before the entire assembly, the night was deemed a success--at least, it was deemed a success by the mother of the primary object of Mr. Bingley's attentions for the night (the other mothers, it can be assumed, were not quite as gracious). Jane Bennet, widely considered the local beauty, was so admired by the young gentleman that he stood up with her no less than twice, and during the periods in which he was not actually dancing with her, a circumstance which occurred far more often than the smitten young man might have wished, she had to put up with being the main focus of his attention, for his eyes were on her almost the entire night.

The other three Bennet sisters, though they did not perhaps experience quite as much pleasure as Jane, also viewed the night as a success. Mary heard herself mentioned to Mr. Bingley as being very accomplished at the pianoforte, while Lydia found herself fortunate enough to have danced every dance, which was all her young and, it may be said, foolish heart ever really wanted at such an assembly. Even Kitty thought the night was pleasant. Though Kitty had been afflicted at the age of ten with an illness which robbed her of her sight, she remained a pleasant girl, not letting her blindness turn her heart to bitterness as it very well could have--and since she had memorized the steps of various dances with the aid of her sisters, she was able to dance a few times with the aid of close family friends.

Mr. Bingley, noticing how Jane kindly tended to her sister's needs, asked Kitty if she would dance with him. On seeing the warm expression on Jane's face quickly change to one of concern, Mr. Bingley said hurriedly: "I assure you I will be most careful and attentive. Your sister will come to no harm in my hands."

Though Jane, who was very protective of Kitty, reluctantly assented, her eyes did not stray once from the pair as they went through a fourth of a set. Mr. Bingley, perhaps sensing Jane's concern, soon brought Catherine Bennet back to stand by her older sister.

Now that Kitty was no longer in any potential danger, Jane allowed herself to relax, and she gave Mr. Bingley a grateful smile. "Thank you for taking such tender care of my sister."

"It was my pleasure," said the amiable Mr. Bingley, beaming. "She is a fine dancer."

"I thank you, Mr. Bingley," said Kitty, "but I assure you, all the grace was in the leading."

And so it was that Kitty had been able to dance with a new partner. The night promised to be as good for her as it was for her other sisters at the assembly.

However, it was not very long at all before events took a decidedly less pleasant turn.

Mr. Bingley was displeased that his close friend seemed to be doing his very best _not_ to enjoy the assembly, so he stepped over to talk to him. Miss Georgiana, on seeing him approach, gave him a shy smile, her cheeks turning pink. Bingley graced Georgiana with a smile of his own before turning his attention on his visibly dour and recalcitrant friend.

"Darcy!" cried Mr. Bingley. "Why _are_ you standing about in this stupid manner? You must really find a partner and dance--I do not believe I have seen you go out on the floor _once_."

"You know I detest dances, Bingley, unless I am especially acquainted with my partner."

Mr. Bingley refused to have his efforts countered so easily. "But I simply must have you dance, Darcy! Why, there are many pretty girls whom I am sure would not turn you down should you choose to ask them."

"The young lady with whom you have been dancing is the only handsome woman in the room, apart from my sister."

Georgiana, who was red, muttered something unintelligible.

"Now, now, Darcy," scolded Mr. Bingley. "Miss Bennet's sisters are certainly handsome."

"They are tolerable enough, I suppose, but they are certainly not handsome enough to tempt _me_."

Kitty and Mary were sitting nearby and were close enough to hear the conversation between the two men. After Darcy's comment, Kitty stood, and Mary, though ill at ease, guided her--at her quiet insistence--over to the newcomers.

"I dare say, Mr. Darcy," began Kitty, "that I had not taken you to be a man to judge women solely by their looks alone. I should have thought that _you_, at least, would have known that looks are a poor way to measure a woman."

And with that, Kitty, with a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, requested that Mary guide her off toward their mother. They were gone before Mr. Darcy was able to form a reply.

Mr. Bingley shifted his feet awkwardly, exchanging a grimace with Georgiana. Trying to deflect attention from what had just happened, he suggested: "Ah, Darcy, if there are no girls who catch your eye, perhaps you should stand up with Miss Bennet."

The look on Mr. Darcy's face was very dour indeed. "Perhaps you forget that I am having enough difficulties with two women of my acquaintance. I would much rather not add any more to the list."

Sensing Mr. Darcy's hostility, Mr. Bingley turned to Georgiana. "So, Miss Darcy, how are you enjoying your evening? Unless I am very much mistaken, I believe this is one of only a handful of such experiences. You must be truly anticipating your coming out."

Georgiana smiled shyly at her brother's dearest friend. "Indeed, I am, Mr. Bingley. I do so wish to be able to dance more, though."

"Georgiana," Darcy admonished, "you are well aware the only reason you have been allowed to attend was due to Bingley's rather persuasive arguments in your favor."

"Now, Darcy--" Bingley began before being cut off by his friend with a slight wave of his hand.

"No, Bingley, you were correct. A small country assembly in Hertfordshire is an ideal place for Georgiana to become accustomed to attending a ball. I thank you for the suggestion. But the fact remains that Georgiana is _not_ out yet and, as such, is only allowed to dance with family or close friends. And as we have not been in Hertfordshire long enough to have made any close acquaintances, that leaves you and me. I am sorry, but for now you must content yourself to dancing with your ancient elder brother and his silly friend."

This last was said with an affection and energy, that whoever witnessed it could not help but understand the closeness between the Darcy siblings.

"Speak for yourself, old man," Bingley retorted good-naturedly, "But I am not the one who categorically refuses to dance with _any_ of the pretty young ladies in attendance tonight. By my calculation, that makes _you_ both ancient _and_ silly!"

Darcy smirked at his friend and waved him back to the dance floor. "I will state once again, Bingley, you are wasting your time with me. Return to your dancing and your parading before your new neighbors and leave me to my brooding."

His eyes turned from his friend, and he seemed to be contemplating something on the other side of the room. Bingley, seeing Darcy's attention was engaged elsewhere, took his advice and turned to the young lady by his side.

"I seem to have been neglecting you, Georgiana! I may be poor compensation for the wonders of London society, but perhaps you would favor me with a dance?"

Georgiana shyly let it be known that she would indeed enjoy a dance with her brother's friend, and Mr. Bingley led her out onto the floor.

Mr. Darcy watched them for a few seconds before going in pursuit of the two young ladies who had been a victim of his foul mood. He could not help but frown when he found them speaking with their loquacious mother.

Mrs. Bennet, who was talking about how unpleasant-looking he was, saw his approach and was quick to note her displeasure with him in a raised tone. "My daughters have been speaking to me, Mr. Darcy, and were it not for my utmost confidence in them as honest girls, I might find myself unable to believe the horrors of which they have accused you! But knowing now as I do what your opinions are, I fear I must command that you cease all contact with my daughters. After all, if you so detest our country society, I should wonder that you came to the ball at all."

Darcy spoke stiffly. "I am aware that I have wronged your daughters, Mrs. Bennet, and I have come to offer an apology to them. My mood of late has not been a pleasant one, and my ill-spoken comment was not meant as an attack on their persons, but as a means of convincing my friend to cease his persistent appeals."

Realizing that she could now afford to be a bit gracious, Mrs. Bennet backed away from her anger. Now that she examined him again, she was willing to consider him to be _somewhat_ handsome--though certainly nowhere near as handsome as the charming Mr. Bingley. "Did you indeed come with such intentions, Mr. Darcy? Well, I suppose my daughters might deign to accept your apology."

Kitty and Mary both muttered something about agreeing to such an acceptance.

The mother of the two girls knew that she was in a position of some power, and she planned to use it to her advantage. Mary was somewhat plain, and Mrs. Bennet doubted whether she would appeal to Mr. Darcy, but Kitty was a rather handsome girl, and she would make a fine wife in spite of her handicap.

"There, Mr. Darcy!" said Mrs. Bennet, almost before the girls had finished their mumbled acquiescence. "You see how amiable my girls are. They would be quite a catch for any man looking to marry--"

"Mamma," interjected Kitty, aware of the turn of her mother's thoughts.

But Mrs. Bennet ignored her. "You know, Mr. Darcy, my dear Kitty has hardly been able to dance at all tonight, and she does love it so. Why, I believe that if you were to take her out onto the floor, she would be much obliged. We will not trust her to anyone's hands, you know, but I dare say you are quite capable of aiding her!"

Mr. Darcy bore the expression of someone who had just swallowed something sour. "I did not come to this assembly with the intention of dancing, Mrs. Bennet."

"Nonsense, Mr. Darcy!" cried Mrs. Bennet. "One cannot come to an assembly such as this without bearing such an intention. I simply must insist that you take Kitty through at least half a set."

"Mamma," pleaded Kitty once more.

But Mrs. Bennet kept her attention on the man before her. "I do not see you engaging in such a pleasure with any other partners, Mr. Darcy. So, you are quite out of excuses!"

Mr. Darcy looked between Kitty and her mother, perhaps judging whether it would be more unpleasant to argue with the woman whose daughters he had insulted or take one of those daughters to the dance floor. It was her loud exclamation of, "Do not be so hesitant, Mr. Darcy!" that decided him. He would much rather go through a quarter of an hour of dancing than continue to speak with such a woman. And so, he took Kitty to the dance floor.

Jane did not immediately notice her sister dancing with Mr. Darcy, as she was conversing with Miss Darcy and Mr. Bingley. Miss Darcy was acting strangely cold, though Jane tried to not let it affect her negatively; Mr. Bingley, however, seemed to be especially interested in speaking with her, even though there were several young ladies in the room who would not refuse to dance with him. Jane was certainly not averse to being in his presence, and she talked to him and Mr. Darcy's sister with pleasure. She was telling them of her sister Elizabeth, who she said was unwell and had to stay home.

"How very unfortunate!" said Mr. Bingley with a frown. He then claimed he would call on the Bennets and meet her beloved sister the very next day. After making the promise, however, his gaze turned from her, and he exclaimed: "How peculiar!"

Frowning, Jane turned her eyes to see what had caused such an outburst. She gasped at the sight of Kitty and Mr. Darcy dancing together.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but she found she could not force any words out.

"And he was so adamant about not dancing with anyone," mused Mr. Bingley.

They were not the only ones watching the dancing couple. Mrs. Bennet's eyes were similarly occupied as she talked to her neighbor Lady Lucas. "Oh, look at them dance! I dare say I can practically hear wedding bells ringing already! That Mr. Darcy is not so unpleasant a man once you get to know him, it seems. And his friend, Mr. Bingley--why, he is absolutely taken with Jane! Perhaps my girls will do very well for themselves after all. If only Elizabeth had seen fit to come! I do not know if she will ever catch a good husband with the way she avoids these assemblies. We had hope once, of course, but it all came to naught."

"I am certain all of your daughters will be well-married," stated Lady Lucas calmly. "They are all lovely girls."

"They are, are they not? Well, perhaps Mary is a little plain, but Jane is especially handsome!" And then Mrs. Bennet began to extol all the virtues of her second-oldest daughter.

Mr. Darcy's thoughts upon first going out to the dance floor were black indeed, but Kitty, it seemed, had agreed to the dance to placate Mrs. Bennet just as he had. She did not appear to be hoping to find a companion for her future life at this assembly, and the realization helped wipe away his misgivings.

He felt a little awkward initially while leading her to the floor. He had never danced with a blind partner and had never aspired to do so. Yet despite her handicap, she was actually a pleasant enough partner. She seemed shy, and she was, most fortunately, not in possession of the garrulity which plagued her mother; despite her quiet nature, however, she possessed a strong confidence in herself which led her to hold her head high in spite of her condition. Though he was a stranger that she was trusting herself to, she appeared completely undaunted by her situation.

When at last they had completed half of a set, Mr. Darcy led her away from the floor. "You are a fine dancer, Miss Bennet," complimented he. The remark was sincere and even surprised himself.

A smile touched Kitty's face. "For someone who so dislikes the activity, Mr. Darcy, you are certainly not devoid of the skills it requires."

As Mr. Darcy took Kitty back to her mother, he reflected that perhaps not the whole of the society found in this region was completely wanting after all.


	3. Chapter III

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Now, on with the show!

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**CHAPTER III**

Longbourn, the Bennets' estate, was situated only a mile from the village of Meryton, and it was within so easy a walking distance that the young ladies who resided at Longbourn could often be found walking thither in search of ribbons, books, or merely a respite from a mother whose nerves permeated the household. Although Elizabeth, as the eldest, tried to assume the role of mentor to her younger sisters, her ability to influence them was, to a certain extent, curbed by their mother's unfortunate tendency to insist she had the final say in her daughters' educations and affairs--after all, she clamored, Elizabeth was merely one of her daughters, while Mrs. Bennet was the mistress of the estate.

Of course, such a circumstance could have been altered if Mr. Bennet had deigned to take his very silly wife in hand and correct her flighty behavior. Mr. Bennet, however, had never been a man to immerse himself in the doings of his family, especially since he had been blessed (or cursed, depending on one's point of view) with a succession of five daughters and no sons to even the balance. Had he perhaps been given a son with whom he could commiserate and whom he could train in the management of the estate, matters might have been different. But since Mr. Bennet had been unfortunate enough to be afflicted with a sickly constitution and ill health, he often felt himself unequal to the task of doing anything more strenuous than sitting in his personal library with a good book and a glass of port, a fire roaring in the grate near him. Indeed, the most basic of estate management tasks were often beyond his ability to deal with--or perhaps, to be more accurate, the situation of his health gave him a convenient excuse to avoid those tasks he found tedious. He was therefore assisted in the management of his affairs by his eldest daughters, without whom the estate would undoubtedly have fallen into considerable disrepair.

He was reading a book with a glass of port beside him when his eldest daughter found him after the departure of the rest of the family.

"Ah, Lizzy," said he, "how good of you to join your old father. I must say, your aching head seems to have made a remarkable recovery."

As her father's favorite, Elizabeth was well-acquainted with his moods, his quick and biting humor, and his sarcastic witticisms, and she knew her father was well aware of the reason for her reticence toward participating in the evening's main activity.

"Now, papa, you must know my reluctance to attend the festivities has nothing to do with a headache. Though my sisters, for the most part, enjoy the activity so much, I must say that I take little pleasure in a dance. I should much rather stay home and keep you company."

"In that case, I must say, Lizzy, I quite commend you for refusing to participate in this foolishness."

He coughed lightly, and Elizabeth looked at him in concern. With the state that the family was in--there being five sisters and no brother to break the entail which gave the estate to a most unworthy young cousin of the family--Mr. Bennet's slightest cough and every sneeze were scrutinized as causes for great concern, for, as Mrs. Bennet was fond of pointing out, nothing but Mr. Bennet's continued ability to draw breath stood between their comfortable home and their being thrown out to starve among the hedgerows. While Elizabeth was concerned for the state of her family and for their continued well-being, she concerned herself more with the health of her beloved father than with whatever fate would await them upon his demise.

Mr. Bennet noticed the expression on his eldest daughter's face. "Lizzy, do not look at me in such a manner. I am not about to expire right before your eyes."

Elizabeth could not help but roll her eyes at her father's droll comment--it was so like her father to make light of such a serious situation. "Papa, you know me better than that. I'm not about to bemoan your impending passing or call for my smelling salts."

"I should think you had more sense than that, Lizzy."

"Yes, I believe I do. Now, tell me, Papa--are you well? Is the fire warm enough for you, or should I call for the servant to build it up?"

"Believe me, Lizzy, I am well. You will not descend into poverty this night, I should think."

Knowing from experience there was no talking to him when he was in such a mood, Elizabeth shook her head and sat back into her armchair and opened a book. It did not escape her attention, however, that her father's eyes never once left her face as she moved--nor did his countenance waver from the quizzical and slightly worried look which had spread over his features. Lizzy knew his thoughts; he was thinking of a conversation which had been repeated many times--a conversation which, though she would have wished to avoid it, she knew he would press again. His affection for her, his favorite child, would not allow him to do any less.

Her suspicions were correct, and her father did not allow the silence between them to continue for long. "Lizzy, my child, while I do indeed commend you for not participating in such foolishness, I do worry about you."

"Papa--"

"No, Lizzy, I will not spare you this conversation. While your mother and sisters, with the possible exception of Mary, spend their days searching for the perfect match, you while away your hours in my study with books. Though I know we both take pleasure from the practice, do you not think your time might be better spent considering your future?"

"My future will take care of itself, Papa--I am in no mood to give myself over to my mother's penchant for fripperies or follow her in her quest to learn the pocketbook size of anyone with trousers. My future will come in good time."

Leaning forward to steeple his fingers in front of his face, Mr. Bennet regarded his eldest daughter with some amusement. "Far be it for me to dispute the very accurate picture you paint of your mother, Lizzy. But certainly there are other more proper ways to go about securing the attentions of a worthy young man."

"And I thought it was the duty of a young man to secure the affections of a lady," murmured Elizabeth dryly. "It appears you and my mother have been remiss in my education."

"I declare your education has been as sound as I could make it, my dear. You must remember that sometimes worthy young men will not bestow their attention on young ladies without encouragement, and you will certainly never succeed in drawing the attention of such young men if you continually hide yourself away in my study and refuse to take the time to exhibit as your mother wishes you to do."

When she made no reply, Mr. Bennet continued. "My child, it was almost four years ago. Surely your heart has managed to heal by now. After all, there is nothing a young woman likes better than to be crossed in love. You have even outdone your sister Jane in that regard."

"Please do not worry about the state of my heart, papa. I shall endeavor to follow your excellent advice, but I am quite determined to continue to avoid such assemblies--I have no love of dancing, and I cannot imagine that will ever change."

But Mr. Bennet was not about to let Elizabeth put him off. Although he could not by any means be considered one who was excessively and intimately concerned with the doings of his family, he was still a caring man at heart, and Elizabeth was his favorite daughter, after all. The guilt he felt over not providing for his family properly was one that he felt from time to time--more often when it was thrust into his consciousness as it was at this particular moment. However, he was not a man to dwell upon anything, especially his failures, to any great extent, and he was rather successful in burying himself in his books and contenting himself with the company of his eldest daughter. Besides, his health prevented him from doing what was required to allow his estate to become prosperous enough to provide him a means of saving for his family. This was at least partially true.

But lately, he had had something else to worry about--namely, the aforementioned eldest daughter. Since her experience those years ago, his Elizabeth seemed to have retreated. Whereas she had been willing and eager to meet and dance with young men before, now she avoided the activity altogether, spending time in the library with her father, handling estate matters, and assiduously avoiding assemblies such as the one she had refused to attend this very evening. At first, the change had not truly been noticed, and as he had enjoyed the company and the extra time spent with his daughter, Mr. Bennet had not questioned her or her reasons.

But the fact was that Mr. Bennet was not becoming any younger--nor was his health improving. Although he had no specific reason to believe he would soon expire, the uncertain nature of his health made him painfully aware that his time could come at any moment. When his time did come, he was aware his family faced a future fraught with uncertainty, and there was little he could do at this juncture to prevent it. Therefore, it had become apparent to him that his daughters' future security lay in the path of marriage--if but one of them could make a good match, then the others would be provided for. Of course, if they could all enter the marriage state, so much the better, as he was certain that, between them, his widow would be provided for. Jane was, of course, the most likely candidate to marry a rich man, but Mr. Bennet was certain that the right man for Elizabeth existed; if she could only find him, the right man could not fail to understand what a treasure he had unearthed.

But Elizabeth seemed determined to avoid all possibility of ever allowing a young man to get to know her. Indeed, she seemed not only resigned but also determined to maintain her aloof status and never allow another man into her heart. He was puzzled; it was not like his sensible daughter to be so affected so severely.

Which brought him to his current concern. By his count, Elizabeth had begged off the last three assemblies successfully, and although she was becoming quite adept at the running of the estate, she would not be able to do that forever. He wanted his favorite daughter secure in a marriage with a man who loved her--and who she esteemed as her equal. She would not find it sitting in his study while her sisters were out socializing and being introduced to rich young men who were new to the neighborhood. No, it simply would not do.

"Elizabeth," he began, startling her attention from her book.

"Papa?"

"I treasure your company, but although you tell me not to worry about your future, you must know that I do. There is no future in sitting in my book room."

"Papa--"

"No, Elizabeth! You will not put me off again! My dear, you must pull yourself out of this melancholy and enter the world again. It is one thing for me to sit in my book room all the time, but surely there is someone for you, someone who will recognize the exceptional young woman you are. You will not find him in here, my dear."

Elizabeth listened to his diatribe without comment--without expression, he thought. It was some time before she spoke again.

"Papa, I know of what you speak. Yet I fear you are correct. My heart has been ill-used, and I fear it has taken me some time to recover."

"But surely, Elizabeth, it is time."

His daughter nodded without enthusiasm. "Again, I must agree, Papa. Yet I doubt I shall ever enjoy dancing--it is a reminder, a reminder of what has happened, of everything that is insincere and false in our world."

"There are other ways to socialize, Elizabeth," Mr. Bennet chided gently.

"Indeed there are. I promise you, Papa, I will try. Whether I will eventually find someone of my own, I cannot say, but I will not let an opportunity pass."

"That, my child, is all I can ask."

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully; then a playful expression suffused itself upon her face. "Of course, I could allow Jane to raise our family fortunes, and I could play old maiden aunt to her gaggle of children."

Laughing at the image, Mr. Bennet reached over and embraced his favorite daughter. "I believe Jane would appreciate the assistance, Elizabeth. But then you would deny some worthy young man the privilege of having you for a wife--not to mention denying your unborn children a mother. Do not sell yourself short, my dear, and do not think too meanly of the world. Our society does have its problems, to be sure, but it is not all darkness and despair. You have much to give. Please do not waste it."

"I promise, Papa."

With that, Mr. Bennet had to be content.


	4. Chapter IV

**CHAPTER IV**

Although Elizabeth did not go to the dance, her ears were soon filled with so much of it that it almost seemed as if she had.

The exuberant Lydia was the first to run through the front door of their home. "Lizzy! Lizzy!" shouted the girl as she rushed about to find her eldest sister.

Elizabeth stood up and shortly found herself bombarded with self-centered effusions from her sixteen-year old sister, who proclaimed that there had not been a single dance in which she had not participated. On hearing her sister's hurried descriptions of the dance, it was all Elizabeth could do to hold back a grimace, knowing as she did that the flirtatious Lydia had likely acted in a manner that was not completely in accord with the bonds of propriety.

The other females of her family were also soon crowding around her and informing her of the goings-on of the assembly.

"Oh, Lizzy, you should have seen the wonderful Mr. Bingley!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. "He was handsome, polite, kind--and he danced with our Jane _twice_! Such a charming, charming man!"

Elizabeth turned to her twin and noted the pink on her cheeks. Judging by the way in which Jane was avoiding her twin's gaze, Mr. Bingley had made a very favorable impression _indeed_. Elizabeth resolved to ask Jane about it in private later. A part of her was very happy at the thought of her sister's having such a suitor--considering how amiable and attentive her mother was making Mr. Bingley out to be--but there was another part of her that was worried. Would a man of four or five thousand a year really be able to content himself with marrying someone who would only be able to provide him with one thousand pounds and four per cents--and even that only upon the death of Mrs. Bennet?

After being told about the proud Mr. Darcy and his snub of the younger Bennet sisters, Elizabeth found herself admonishing several times that no, she did not regret missing the assembly, and yes, she still found no pleasure in dancing at all. Her sisters were very excited about the night, and even Mary noted: "As far as such assemblies go, Lizzy, this one was certainly pleasant."

"Pleasant?" laughed Lydia. "It was remarkable fun, Mary, admit it!"

"I even danced with the proud Mr. Darcy, Lizzy!" said Kitty, who was in just as good of a mood as Lydia.

Elizabeth turned sharply toward her mother. "Mamma, you let her dance with a _stranger_?" Her lips were pursed in disapproval.

"I am not a child, Lizzy," said Kitty darkly before Mrs. Bennet could respond.

Mrs. Bennet waved her hands about dismissively. "Mr. Darcy took good enough care of her, I assure you."

"And so did Mr. Bingley," added Kitty. There was a challenging note to her voice.

"You danced with _two_ strangers, Kitty?" asked Elizabeth with obvious disapproval.

"I did, Lizzy, and nothing bad happened. You must stop treating me like a child. I am not that much younger than you."

"You could have been hurt," persisted Elizabeth.

"But I was not. You need to have more faith in my abilities, Lizzy. I may be blind, but I am not incompetent. I know the steps of the dances as well as any of you--perhaps even better. You cannot treat me like a child forever."

"Kitty--" began Elizabeth, pained.

"Lizzy," returned the other calmly.

"Girls, stop this bickering," commanded Mrs. Bennet. "I refuse to let you ruin our lovely night! Now--Lydia, did you happen to see Miss Darcy's dress? I dare say it was one of the finest I have rested my eyes on in quite some time!" And she then proceeded to discuss the various notable items of clothing which had been featured at the assembly.

Eventually, Elizabeth moved over to stand by Kitty, and she squeezed her hand. The gesture was an apologetic one, and Kitty understood, giving her a squeeze in return. The two sisters, no longer cross, were then able to participate in the assembly-related conversation of which Mrs. Bennet was the dominating force.

When Elizabeth and Jane were finally able to escape up to bed, Elizabeth wanted to begin questioning her sister about Mr. Bingley, but Jane seemed especially tired, so Elizabeth contented herself with teasing: "I will let you get your rest tonight, Jane, but I expect to be fully briefed on the admirable qualities of Mr. Bingley tomorrow."

"I must confess I am not unwilling to have such a discussion," said Jane, blushing.

The bell-like sound of Elizabeth's laughter filled the room.


	5. Chapter V

**CHAPTER V**

The day after the Meryton assembly dawned bright and clear, with nary a wisp of wind, nor with the chill in the air one might have suspected would be present on a mid-October morning. For one such as Elizabeth Bennet, a young lady who enjoyed rambling through the fields and forests surrounding her home above all other pleasures, the gift of fine weather this late into the autumn months was almost heaven-sent. Once the winter weather arrived in earnest, she would find her outdoor pursuits severely curtailed, so she attempted to take advantage of the situation as often as she could.

On this particular morning, however, Elizabeth had decided to forego her greatest pleasure in favor of the pleasure of watching Jane. Although Elizabeth had not yet had the opportunity to properly discuss Jane's new acquaintance with the handsome Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth knew her sister better than any other person of her acquaintance, and while she knew Jane had looked up to young men in the past, she had never seen quite this depth of reaction to any gentleman before.

Mr. Bingley's promised visit took place soon after breakfast, a meal which was complemented by Mrs. Bennet's fluttering nerves and shrill admonishments to Jane to sit up straight and make the most of her handsome figure. At length, however, once Mrs. Bennet had tolerably composed herself, Mr. Bingley was shown into the parlor and the visit had commenced.

It was not long before all of Elizabeth's suppositions and conjectures from the previous night were confirmed, for Jane, although naturally reticent and modest, greeted Mr. Bingley with the shyest of smiles and the faintest hint of a blush on her fair skin, a clear indication to the perceptive Elizabeth that her sister enjoyed Mr. Bingley's company very much.

For his part, Mr. Bingley looked very much the love-sick swain--or as near as a young man of no more than a twelve-hour acquaintance could possibly approach the condition. He was easy and engaging in his manners and conversation, seeming comfortable with all of the Bennet ladies, and yet his eyes wandered back to Jane more often than they should have. Elizabeth noted all of this, and although the acquaintance was a new one, Elizabeth was content. His manners were above reproach, and Elizabeth was quite willing to let her beloved sister retain her present opinion regarding Mr. Bingley--after all, Jane gave her trust so easily. Elizabeth had always worried some rake would come along and take advantage of her sweet disposition; it was a relief to see a good, caring young man so enamored with her, especially after so short an acquaintance.

Unfortunately, the presence of Mrs. Bennet all but interrupted any attempt at sensible talk, as she tended to monopolize the conversation with mindless prattle about the previous night's activities, noting who had danced with whom and discussing the lace on Miss Darcy's gown in excruciating detail. Of course, no such talk was either agreeable or interesting to the young man, who quickly suggested walking out along the neighboring paths with the Miss Bennets (all except for Lydia, who had accompanied her aunt Phillips to her home for a visit upon completion of the previous night's festivities). This endeavor was immediately agreed upon, and they busied themselves preparing for the outdoors.

However, they had not gone twenty steps from the house when the door flew open and their mother's piercing voice arrested their footsteps.

"Girls!" said she, "I simply must have some flowers for the table! Elizabeth, do be a dear and fetch me some on your walk."

Elizabeth assured her mother she would do so, and the five quickly made for the gate to the estate and for the freedom which lay beyond.

Very quickly, Elizabeth learned that Mr. Bingley, besides being amiable and charming, was also astute, as he immediately seemed to sense the closeness between the twin sisters and chose to put himself at the side of Elizabeth. Although she initially wondered what this meant, Mr. Bingley's good-natured conversation and ready attentiveness toward her was accompanied by frequent glances toward Jane made over his shoulder. Elizabeth was thus alerted to the fact that Mr. Bingley was attempting to place himself in the best possible light, for to gain the approval of the lady's favorite sister could only assist him in his suit. Far from being displeased at his actions, Elizabeth appreciated him for his sensibility and his consideration, all of which pointed to a very sincere, although undoubtedly very new, attachment to her sister.

They walked on in this manner for upward of half an hour, Elizabeth conversing in the most animated fashion with the extremely diverting Mr. Bingley while Mary and Jane walked behind, leading Kitty through the woods. Elizabeth, though concentrating on the conversation of her companion, had the pleasure of glancing back every so often to see Jane gazing at Mr. Bingley with a shy smile on her face--a smile which transformed to a blush whenever she was caught looking at him by her sister.

At length, the hoofbeats of a horse were heard to be approaching, and a rider came into view on a tall black horse. The rider approached them and dismounted before walking forward and leading his horse, his attention fixed upon the entire party. Elizabeth knew immediately he was the friend of Mr. Bingley's of whom her sisters had spoken. He was a tall man--several inches taller than even Mr. Bingley, who himself was not small by any means. His hair was dark and wavy, and his looks were pleasant--in fact, Elizabeth was able to acknowledge him to be as handsome as her sisters had maintained the night before. His bearing was formal, even approaching aristocratic, and his movements were sure and confident. While he appeared determined, the manner in which he led his horse forward was calm, even gentle. The horse itself was magnificent--as great a horse as Elizabeth had ever laid eyes upon, for although she was not a great rider, Elizabeth loved the majestic animals and had always wished to ride finer specimens than her father could afford to own.

"Ah, Darcy, so good of you to join us," greeted Mr. Bingley.

Mr. Darcy made no reply, simply sweeping the company with his piercing gaze and finally resting it upon Elizabeth, who, though immediately feeling the urge to blush at his intense scrutiny, nevertheless straightened her back and gazed back at the man in an unwavering fashion, determined she would not be intimidated.

Mr. Bingley immediately seemed to realize the situation and turned to Elizabeth. "Ah, I beg your pardon, Darcy. Please allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was not at last night's assembly because of an indisposition."

"Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Darcy with a stiff nod. "I hope you are feeling better."

"I believe I am, sir. Fortunately, I have a sturdy constitution and recover quite quickly from a mere headache, and there is little indeed which can keep me away from the outside world for long. If I were to receive an ailment which required me to stay in bed for the rest of my life, I should surely succumb to it--the outdoors mean too much to me."

Mr. Darcy peered back at her, as if seeing her for the first time again--Elizabeth suspected he had never been spoken to in such a fashion by any woman of his acquaintance.

"I believe I see your point, Miss Elizabeth. But there are plenty of entertainments to be found inside. Reading, for example, can be a very beneficial exercise for the mind and may help one become truly accomplished."

"Indeed, Mr. Darcy, I think you are quite right, but I prefer to combine my pleasures whenever possible. You are just as likely to see me walking with a book of sonnets in my hand as not."

"Well, if you are so fond of books, perhaps you should see Darcy's library at Pemberley," noted Mr. Bingley. "It is very fine and well-stocked."

"It ought to be," allowed Mr. Darcy, his posture to Elizabeth's eyes stiffening visibly. "It has been the work of several generations, and I try to add to it wherever possible."

"Do not be modest, Darcy," cried Mr. Bingley. "Your library has more books than I could possibly read in ten lifetimes."

"Really, Bingley, I do have more than _ten_ books in my library." Mr. Darcy's voice was dry and affectionate, an abrupt change from the severe, restrained manners he had shown to that point.

Mr. Bingley only laughed at the snub. "You know me too well, old man. I am afraid I just do not have the patience for books. There is always something else calling my attention away."

"Well, you may have the finest library in all the country, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, "but I have discovered that my father's library suits me quite well, and I find I often reread that which I like the most. My father does what he can to update his collection, so I never seem to run out of different material."

"So, you read often, do you?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy, she does," interjected Kitty. "We have all despaired of her taking interest in any of the more--shall we say--frivolous aspects of a young woman's education. She always seems to have a book in her hands."

Mr. Darcy turned and favored Kitty with a smile on his face, which she could not of course see, but the genuine pleasure in his voice was evident when he responded. "Good morning to you, Miss Catherine."

Turning her sightless eyes in his direction, Kitty smiled in response. "Mr. Darcy, all my friends call me Kitty. Shall you not do so, too?"

Elizabeth could only gaze at her sister in astonishment. For Kitty, the Bennet sister generally least likely to part with her trust, to make so open a declaration of friendship to Mr. Darcy after so brief an acquaintance--why, it must mean that something had happened of which she had not been informed. It was completely beyond Elizabeth's experience.

"It would not be proper to address you in so familiar a manner," replied he. "Perhaps we could compromise at Miss Kitty?"

Kitty inclined her head. "That would be acceptable, Mr. Darcy."

"Then Miss Kitty it is," responded Mr. Darcy before turning to Mr. Bingley. "I am sorry Bingley, but have you forgotten of our engagement this morning?"

"No, indeed, Darcy," responded Mr. Bingley with a ready smile. "I wished to call briefly on the Bennets this morning to fulfill my promise, but I think you are right--we had best be going. But first, we must escort these young ladies to their home."

At Darcy's acquiescence, Kitty indicated to Mary that she wished to continue down the path, and she started off, with Jane and Bingley following close behind, the former watching her younger sister's footsteps with great care and the latter paying attention to little other than his fair companion. Elizabeth at once realized her sisters had left her to walk with Mr. Darcy, who was leading his horse, and although she was still uncertain what to make of the man, she assented when he motioned for her to precede him down the path.

They walked in silence for several moments until, unaccountably desperate for some conversation, Elizabeth turned to compliment Mr. Darcy on his choice of horseflesh. "Mr. Darcy, I do not think I have ever seen such a fine specimen as your horse. Pray, have you had him long?"

"Since he was foaled. His sire was my father's favorite."

"So your attachment is a long one."

Surprised at her playful tone, Mr. Darcy glanced at her before continuing. "Yes. Am I to conclude that you are an equine lover as well, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Darcy. Although, I must confess that I have not ridden such a horse as yours. Unfortunately, all my father has on the farm are plow horses and a few carriage horses. I believe riding one such as your beauty would be much different."

"I dare say it would."

"Unless you wish to be regaled with tales of Darcy's stables," said Mr. Bingley, who had heard their conversation, "I would suggest you not encourage him on the subject. Darcy is an excellent horseman."

But as this was a topic in which Elizabeth held some measure of interest, she took no notice of Mr. Bingley's playful admonishments and addressed Mr. Darcy about his horses, encouraging him to tell her more. The subject of his equine holdings appeared to be a topic for which Mr. Darcy's enthusiasm seemed boundless, for they spent the rest of the walk to Longbourn in conversation. Indeed, it was with surprise that Elizabeth at length noticed the gates of her home appearing before her, so engrossed had she been in their discourse.

The gentlemen walked them up to the door of the house and bowed, to the sisters' returned curtseys, before Mr. Bingley called for his horse to be brought around from the stables and the ladies entered their home.

However, it was not long before the clamorous voice of her mother reminded Elizabeth of her request for some wildflowers for their dining room table. Elizabeth, unwilling to hear her mother's excessive lamentations over her eldest daughter's thoughtlessness for the rest of the day, determined immediately to repair out of doors to obtain the requested flora. She gathered her bonnet and slipped out the front door, only to find their guests had not yet left the estate. Although she knew listening to the private conversations of others was not to be considered ladylike, her interest was caught immediately by their subject matter.

"Are the two eldest Miss Bennets not especially lovely creatures?" asked Mr. Bingley.

"I have seen many a handsomer woman," responded Mr. Darcy, in what Elizabeth took to be his disinterested tone.

"Good God, Darcy, if you have, I should like to know where!" cried Mr. Bingley. "I must say, I hardly know what to think of this fastidiousness of yours. It seems there is no woman of your acquaintance who can please you. Surely you must admit I am in the right."

Mr. Darcy turned to his friend and affixed him with the sternest of glares. "Bingley, must you continue--"

"I think I must indeed, Darcy. You have been in high dudgeon ever since you arrived. There must be _something_ of Hertfordshire which does not cause you distress."

"You are well aware it is not Hertfordshire which distresses me, my friend."

"Well, then, if you are to be free of such weighty concerns for a time, then you must turn your mind away from your troubles and allow yourself to be diverted. Come now, admit it, man--the Bennet sisters have their fair share of beauty, even for a country family, as you are wont to describe them."

Looking as if he would rather not answer the question, Mr. Darcy nevertheless afforded his friend a grudging nod. "The elder Miss Bennet is certainly a fine woman."

Seeing Mr. Bingley's expression suffused with an affectionately knowing smile, Elizabeth, who realized that the two men were confused as to who was the eldest sister, could almost anticipate the words which next spilled from his mouth. Although she knew it would be better to remove herself from the vicinity immediately, she was affixed to the spot, her curiosity afire with the need to know what Mr. Bingley would say next and how Mr. Darcy would respond.

"And what of Miss Elizabeth? You are free with praise for her sister but say not a word of her. Surely you cannot have been so blind to have missed the very close similarity between them?"

Mr. Darcy merely grunted in response, his eyes eagerly searching around the side of the house for any indication that Bingley's horse would soon be brought to him. Elizabeth was certain he longed for nothing more than to be gone from the house and away from Bingley's persistent questions.

"Oh, I will grant you they have their differences," conceded Mr. Bingley. "After all, Miss Bennet is rather taller than her sister and has a light and willowy figure. Yet I find Miss Elizabeth's darker coloring and her more dainty and petite size very becoming indeed. Can you deny it, man?"

By this time, Darcy was indeed looking uncomfortable to Elizabeth's eye, but he squared his shoulders and looked Bingley in the eye. "I am sorry I cannot agree with you, Bingley, but I must say I find Miss Elizabeth Bennet rather plain."

It was at that moment when Darcy seemed to see past his friend, and his eyes widened as he beheld the subject of his declaration watching him and hearing his every word. Mortified at the thought of being caught listening to their conversation--and at the discovery that Mr. Darcy should consider her "rather plain"--Elizabeth quickly entered the house and closed the door firmly behind her.

The door at her back provided some comfort to her in its solidity, and Elizabeth took a few deep breaths to calm herself and take stock of what she had just heard. That Mr. Darcy should not think much of her beauty did not concern her in the slightest--after all, he had to have had the benefit of moving in the highest circles with the most beautiful of women, so it was of little consequence if she was not enough to tempt his good opinion. And it was not as if this were the first time she had been compared to Jane and been found wanting. Elizabeth had never begrudged her sister her admirers or the constant praise her mother heaped upon her to everyone within earshot. Elizabeth was rather proud of her sister and took it as a great compliment every time her beauty was noticed and commented upon.

However, that his friend should have the audacity to mention such a thing in the shadow of their own house went completely beyond the pale. Elizabeth chuckled softly to herself--it was well she was not interested in Mr. Darcy's good opinion, or she might have found herself offended and ill-used at his declaration.


	6. Chapter VI

**CHAPTER VI**

It did not take long for Elizabeth to inform her sister Jane of just what exactly had passed between the two gentleman. As was her wont, she was eloquent in her rendition of the event, her acerbic wit more than biting in its flaying of Mr. Darcy's words. Her own culpability of listening at doors, so to speak, she conveniently ignored, enjoying as she was the relating of the tale to her sister.

Jane, who could never find it in herself to think ill of another human being, immediately tried to clear both men of any wrongdoing: "Surely Mr. Darcy would not be so unkind, Lizzy."

Jane was certainly more distressed by such a development than Elizabeth was; the latter was simply amused, and she made no effort to hide her mirth. "I am quite sure that Mr. Darcy meant exactly what he said. The man is utterly proud and disagreeable, and I should be glad never to see his face again."

It was at this point that Kitty burst into the room. "Come now, Lizzy," exclaimed the girl in the doorway, "you are always so quick to see the worst in people. Mr. Darcy may have mortified your pride with his ill-judged words, but perhaps you should try to understand him before immediately condemning him as the worst sort of man!"

"Kitty! Have you been standing by the door this whole time?" admonished Elizabeth.

"It is no more than you have done," retorted the younger girl. She was holding the brown cane she used for navigation against herself, almost as if it were a weapon.

Elizabeth flushed at her sister's words. "I do not understand what you see in that man, Kitty."

"Your conversation with him seemed pleasant enough."

The eldest Miss Bennet just shook her head. "He is too caught up in his pride. But it is of no consequence of me. I am not upset with being so considered by such a disagreeable man, as I have absolutely no interest in his ten thousand pounds. I dare say another woman can submit herself to his foul moods, for I shall have none of them! He may continue to consider me plain--I shall certainly not make any effort to change his mind!"

Jane, a pacifist who was upset by the heated nature of the conversation between her sisters, said quietly: "But that's just it, Lizzy--I am not certain at all that he _does_ think you plain. There was an expression on his face when he looked at you--"

"Probably of disgust!" interjected Elizabeth playfully.

"I do not think that was what it was."

"Nor do I," chimed in Kitty.

"In fact," said Jane slowly, "I do not believe he found you unfavorable at all."

Elizabeth shook her head. "You did not hear him speaking to Mr. Bingley. But--for both of your sakes, I shall endeavor to be kind to the man, though I may dislike his conceit so."

But though she was trying to soothe her sisters, her opinion was just as it was before--she found the man's proud bearing worthy only of contempt, and she was certain her feelings on that issue would never change. She only wished that her good friend Charlotte Lucas had not been sent off to become a governess, as Charlotte would surely have been just as amused by Mr. Darcy's comments as Elizabeth was herself. But there were few respectable options available to unmarried women of a certain age, and Elizabeth could not blame her friend (who was twenty-seven) for leaving. She thought back to the conversation which had taken place between her and her father, and she knew that a similar fate might be in store for her, should she not marry within the next five to seven years.

"Mr. Bingley holds Mr. Darcy in very high esteem," pointed out Jane. "I am sure he is a good man--I suspect he has just been having some difficulties lately."

"A man with ten thousand pounds having difficulties? Surely you exaggerate matters, Jane."

"Mr. Bingley led me to understand such, though he would not go into any detail on specifics."

"Well, I suppose even wealthy men may have their problems," Elizabeth conceded. "But come, tell me more about Mr. Bingley."

"Oh, Lizzy, I hardly know him."

"But from what I hear he hardly left your side last night, Jane. Surely that speaks of some kind of attachment."

"He is a good man--he is very kind."

"Jane is right," said Kitty quietly. "He made an excellent dance partner--I felt completely at ease with him. My being in his hands was certainly no misfortune."

Elizabeth touched Kitty's arm gently. "Ah, Kitty, it is just a shame you cannot see how handsome he is! I am sure you would be well pleased."

"I value his heart more than his looks," Jane noted. She immediately blushed, feeling as if she had exposed more of her feelings than she had meant to.

"Oh, I do have high hopes for you, Jane," proclaimed Elizabeth. "I _do_--but I just want you to be careful. Men fall in and out of love all the time. Women are often called inconstant, but I firmly believe that there is no one more inconstant than a man."

"Oh, Lizzy!"

"All I want is for you to watch your footsteps. Mr. Bingley seems to be a charming man, and I doubt he would ever willingly deceive you as to his feelings. But it is possible that his feelings will change."

"You speak as if we were engaged, Lizzy. We have only danced together twice."

"And he came to call on you today," pointed out Elizabeth. "He does indeed seem smitten with you, Jane, and his manners are certainly above reproach, but let us hope his feelings remain unchanged!"

"I am sure they will, Lizzy," noted Kitty, "for what man could ever resist our dear Jane!"

Elizabeth laughed. "I am sure you are right, Kitty. The flower of Hertfordshire will always have men falling at her feet!"

"Lizzy!" said Jane with a blush. She was so embarrassed that she was unable to say anything else for several minutes.


	7. Chapter VII

**CHAPTER VII**

The front presented to the world by Fitzwilliam Darcy was that of an aloof and arrogant man, one who was well pleased with himself and a few close acquaintances--yet one who was distrustful and disdainful of almost everyone else with whom he came in contact. In town, amongst his social equals, his mien could be said to soften slightly, his countenance becoming less forbidding, yet even with those he considered his equals or his betters he was at best unapproachable and at worst considered to be arrogant and conceited. But this was not the sole defining attribute of the man.

In truth, Mr. Darcy _was_ proud and undeniably arrogant, but it was not this which caused him to remain distant; rather, it was the distinct unease he felt when in the company of strangers and even when among those with whom he shared an acquaintance. As he had inherited his estate upon his father's passing at the tender age of only two and twenty, he had immediately gone from a young man freshly removed from his final year at Cambridge to the master of a great estate in Derbyshire--and consequently, one of the most eligible and rich young men in all of England. This could not have been considered to a hardship to most other young men of lesser means (in which category the vast majority of young men found themselves), but to Darcy, a man of an already serious mind, his sudden elevation to the title of landed gentry in his own right had not only heaped upon him responsibilities for which he had considered himself unready but had also made him the target of every gentleman's wife in the country with a daughter of age to marry. His reputation for arrogance and conceit actually served him rather well, as it helped protect himself against socializing with every young woman in want of a rich husband, an activity which he detested above all other things.

But though Darcy's reputation had at times not been one which many would admire, he had never been known to be rude, even to those people he quite detested, of whom there were not a few. Nor had he ever been known as a liar. And now, he was acutely aware of the untruth in his statement to Bingley the previous day and of having those untrue words offend a young lady who was in all honesty as handsome as any he had ever laid eyes upon--a woman whose only offense had been her position as the subject of Bingley's less than subtle insistence.

Now, he paced the library, pondering over the event and wondering what could be done to resolve the issue without sacrificing his dignity or allowing the lady in question to continue to believe him an unfeeling cad who moved through the world offending every young lady of his acquaintance.

It was while he was thus engaged that Bingley found him, and Darcy could immediately detect a measure of humor in his friend's face which caused his mood to sour even further. After all, if it had not been for Bingley's goading, he would hardly have found himself in such a position.

"Ah, Darcy, there you are."

Darcy merely grunted in response and threw himself in one of the high-backed chairs next to the fire.

"Come, Darcy, what ails you? You have never been one to be overly mirthful in company, but you are beginning to take seriousness and taciturn--and I dare say, even disagreeable--to entirely new heights. Your situation cannot be all _that_ bad, can it?"

"You are well aware of my situation, Bingley."

"I _thought_ I was aware. Perhaps you could illuminate me further--share your burdens, as it were."

The old Mr. Darcy had been rigid and stubborn in his opinions, and one such opinion was the necessity of self-sufficiency for his family, particularly in regard to his his son. The younger Darcy had been taught from the earliest days of his childhood to be completely independent and to work out his problems through his his own intelligence and industry and to seek the help of others only when a superior or specialized knowledge was required. Personal problems were to be kept to oneself, as to show any weakness before anyone, especially someone not of the family, was unacceptable. Because of this, Darcy had always kept his peace and his own council, never imposing upon his friends or acquaintances for trivial matters which concerned only himself.

Although he was loathe to share any of his problems, even with his closest friend, the sight of Bingley standing there--the look of compassion and sympathy so evident on his face--caused Darcy to reconsider his father's teachings and to begin to open up with another person for perhaps the first time in his life.

"You have met both of my problems yourself, Bingley," said Darcy as he passed a hand over his face in a weary gesture. "Do you doubt the rest?"

"Yes, I have met them, old man. But I have often found that talking about a problem to a sympathetic friend can lessen the burden."

It seemed Darcy had no choice but to capitulate, although he was not distressed by his surrender in this circumstance. Taking a deep breath, he began thusly:

"Having already met the ladies in question, Bingley, you can hardly be at a loss for my present feelings of confusion. I have been taught all my life that duty to oneself, one's family, and one's legacy are paramount and that duty specifically demands that I marry my cousin Anne. Yet you have seen us in company and will no doubt be unsurprised when I tell you that I cannot imagine anyone for whom I could possibly feel less preference or attraction. Anne is everything I do not desire in a wife--she is sickly and frail and is possessed of a cross and serious disposition. In short, she is too much like myself, and the two of us should almost certainly suffer for having a serious companion rather than a more lively one who could more easily lighten our own demeanors."

Bingley's soft chuckle was all that greeted Darcy's declaration, and after a moment, Darcy joined in himself, amused at his own succinct way of describing his troubles.

"As for Miss Baker, she is much livelier and is graced with beauty and gentle breeding, not to mention fortune--in short, everything I find attractive in a partner. Her moments of--how shall I put this delicately?--stupidity are somewhat troubling, yet they are highly diverting at the same time. I think I should be very happy with her."

By this time, Bingley was openly laughing, and his voice when he spoke could only be understood with great difficulty. "Oh, yes, Darcy, very delicately put indeed."

The room was filled with laughter for several moments before the seriousness of the discussion once more settled into Darcy's heart.

"So, you see, my friend, I struggle between the inclination and duty demanded by my heritage and my own inclinations, which lie in a very different direction."

"Well, then, my friend, it appears you find yourself in a quandary."

"I do, indeed, Bingley. In fact, a chance for some time away from the ladies in question is what prompted me to accept your invitation with such alacrity."

"Then why not take the opportunity to enjoy your time away from those two ladies? Anything must be better than wandering assembly halls with a face resembling a thunder cloud and a manner so chill as to cause the entire party to suffer from frostbite."

Mr. Darcy shook his head at his friend's irreverent manner. "Really, Bingley, having already confessed that my present indisposition is due to a dilemma concerning two young ladies, why would I complicate matters further by adding another to the mix?"

"Did you have any particular young lady in mind?"

Angry with himself for revealing so much, Darcy rose to his feet and planted himself in front of the window, gazing down on the grounds of Netherfield. Bingley was showing entirely too much shrewdness recently, and Darcy could hardly reconcile him with the young man he had originally known. Awed and grateful to be the recipient of friendship from such a man as Darcy, he had been almost vacuous in their early acquaintance, and Darcy had initially despaired of his ever being a companion who could carry his part of an intelligent conversation. But as Bingley had grown more comfortable in his presence and more certain of their friendship, he had begun to show a disconcerting level of astuteness of which Darcy would never have considered his unassuming friend capable.

"Do not fret, Darcy. I doubt any of the Miss Bennets were the wiser, but I have the benefit of a much longer acquaintance. Although you seemed to consider Miss Kitty worthy of your attention after your dance with her, I am certain you were more affected by one of her older sisters. Am I not right?"

Darcy merely gave a noncommittal grunt.

Bingley took the noise to mean that he was indeed correct. "Ah, so I was right! So, am I to believe you do not find her so plain as you originally stated?"

"You know very well, Bingley, that I only said what I did to convince you to hold your tongue about a subject with which I was so reluctant to speak. I am distressed not only that she has heard me utter so blatant a falsehood but also that I have offended a young lady with my ill-judged words."

"Yes, Darcy," said Bingley, a hint of mischievous humor lacing his voice, "you seem to be quite able to recommend yourself to any and all Bennets, if your performance of the past few days is any indication."

Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes. "Bingley, I am deeply mortified by my actions. Even if I do not consider Miss Bennet to be a pretty young woman, that is no excuse for my rudeness."

"So apologize to her," Bingley said in an offhand fashion while rising to his feet. "After all, you have already had practice in that particular exercise. She is, as you put, a pleasant young woman and would be willing, I am certain, to accept your offered olive branch."

With this, Mr. Bingley slapped his friend on the back in a companionable gesture and then exited the room.

Reflecting upon the last few moments of his conversation with his friend, Mr. Darcy acknowledged that his friend's advice was the only proper course he could take.


	8. Chapter VIII

**CHAPTER VIII**

The area around the estate of Longbourn was delightful, filled with streams, hills, and small copses of trees. The country air was generally clean, the area being far enough from the ever-present pollution which afflicted the capital, and the delightfully cool and brisk autumn air, which still continued to be fine and warm regardless of the late date, lent an even greater sense of pastoral harmony to the area than was normally the case.

Elizabeth Bennet loved her home—she loved every rock and tree and was acquainted with most of them intimately. She was very much a lover of nature and spent an inordinate amount of time rambling through the countryside, doing so more often than any of her sisters. It was true that they not infrequently accompanied her, especially Kitty and Jane—her closest sisters—but her rambles were generally of a solitary nature. In fact, the walks she took on her own, without anyone accompanying her, were generally greater in length and covered more ground, taking her further away from her home than anyone, even Jane, suspected. If her mother ever learned exactly how far from home she ranged on her walks, Elizabeth would undoubtedly never hear the end of her incessant complaining about the wildness of her eldest daughter and the very great risk she put the entire family in due to her unthinking and unfeeling behavior.

Of course, this did not deter Elizabeth one bit. She kept her thoughts to herself and went about the things which gave her pleasure, knowing she had the support of her father should her mother ever become too shrill to bear.

Why she had walked so far this day, she was not entirely certain—her usual haunts were to the north of Longbourn, closer to Mt. Oakham and the delightful views it afforded of the surrounding countryside. However, on this day she had set out in nearly the opposite direction, skirting the neighboring estate of Lucas Lodge and the town of Meryton and eventually coming to the edge of Netherfield. Whether she was curious of the inhabitants of that estate—or whether the boredom of the same scenery in which she had been walking lately had finally caught up to her—it mattered little, as she found herself walking through the woods close to that estate, and indeed, she could make out the bulk of the manor house in the distance.

Seeing nothing of interest to tempt her further notice, Elizabeth shook her head at her own folly and turned to leave the environs, with the intent of returning to Longbourn without further notice.

She walked for several moments, reveling in the bright sunlight shining down through the trees, which were now mostly bare of their canopy of leaves. Feeling the warmth of the sunlight on her cheeks, Elizabeth, on impulse, spread her arms out and began twirling on the path, her eyes closed and her head raised toward the sun.

It was then that she impacted with something quite soft, yet firm and not at all yielding. The air was expelled from her lungs forcefully, and she sat down on the ground, dazed and confused.

Her eyes snapped open, and she saw in front of her a girl in much the same predicament. Neither of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity, and in that time of silence Elizabeth was able to obtain a clear indication of the girl. She was no more than sixteen or seventeen and was in possession of a pale complexion and blond hair. All in all, she seemed to be a pleasant sort of girl, although sitting upon the ground and contemplating the person with whom you have just forcibly collided was not exactly an effective way to take stock of a stranger.

All at once, they both started to speak:

"Oh, I am quite—"

"I beg your pardon—"

Speaking on top of one another brought them both up short, and they immediately began to laugh as they scrambled to their feet, both brushing off the evidence of their encounter from their dresses.

"I am very sorry," said Elizabeth, trying to catch the other girl's eyes. "I'm afraid I was so caught up in the glory of the day that I was not watching where I was going."

The girl glanced up at her and then averted her eyes, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "The fault is mine. I was busy searching for flowers and had just turned from picking one when we—"

The sentence remained unfinished as the girl turned her head in mortification. Elizabeth immediately understood that the girl was shy—perhaps even more reticent than even Jane, who was known for holding her feelings in and keeping her thoughts and vexations to herself.

Indeed, as the girl had said, the area around her was littered with small blooms she had evidently picked on her walk.

"Oh, do let me help you retrieve them," said Elizabeth, bending to pick up the flowers from where they had fallen. They were able to spend the next several moments in companionable silence as they bent to retrieve the blooms and return them to the young girl's hands. Each girl's eyes flickered to the other periodically, however, trying to take their measure of the other.

"Thank you," said the girl shyly once she again held her prize within her hands. "Your assistance is greatly appreciated."

"Do not thank me, for I have done nothing," returned Elizabeth. "After all, it is only fair that I help repair the damage my whimsical and thoughtless actions have caused."

The girl blushed again but then appeared to gather her courage and gaze back at Elizabeth. "I feel we must agree to disagree in this matter. I am convinced I am as much at fault as you. I was not paying any more attention than you."

Elizabeth laughed and was soon joined by the other girl. "Very well, we shall share the blame."

When their mirth had run its course, Elizabeth glanced at the stranger, only to find herself being studied by the girl, who had a slight frown on her face. "I am sorry, but are you from the area?" asked the girl.

"Yes," affirmed Elizabeth, "I live in the estate of Longbourn on the other side of Meryton and often roam these woods."

The girl's eyes widened, and she stared back at Elizabeth. "The other side of Meryton? But that is two miles distant."

"Yes, it is, and Longbourn is another mile beyond."

"Three miles!" cried the girl. "I would never be allowed to walk so far."

Somewhat perplexed and realizing for the first time that the other girl was not someone from the area, Elizabeth frowned. "I do not understand. Surely you have walked far from your home this morning."

"Oh, no, I do not live in this area. My brother and I are merely staying in the house of my brother's close friend." She turned and pointed to Netherfield Park in the distance. "We are staying at Netherfield with Mr. Bingley."

All at once, the situation became clear to Elizabeth, and she knew who the young woman must be, for she had heard stories of Mr. Darcy's beautiful and shy young sister. For an instant, Elizabeth, who still harbored no very cordial feelings toward a certain proud young man, felt a rush of vexation for having accidentally met up with the man's younger sister.

The more rational part of her immediately recognized the young girl was friendly, if a little shy, and could not be held accountable for her bother's excess of pride and ill-judged words. She put her feelings of ambivalence behind her and smiled.

"In fact, if you have walked so far, perhaps you would like to return to Netherfield for some refreshment?" The words were spoken quickly and breathlessly by the girl, and Elizabeth saw that she was not in the habit of giving invitations, though she was covering her reticence and shyness admirably.

"I would be delighted to accompany you," said Elizabeth, "and I thank you for your kind invitation."

Georgiana Darcy, for this was whom Elizabeth believed her to be, inclined her head and gestured in the direction of the manor house. They walked along the path conversing, their conversation ranging from such subjects as Elizabeth's penchant for walking to Georgiana's impressions of the area. Although the girl said nothing further of the acquaintances she had made in the area or of the assembly in particular, Elizabeth was soon given to understand that the girl quite enjoyed the country, for she was effusive in her praise of the estate and the taste of its master in decorating the rooms and making them comfortable and livable after the long period in which Netherfield had stood empty.

During their discussion, Elizabeth kept sneaking glances at the girl, waiting for the expected realization that they had not been introduced as of yet. Whatever else he might be—or whatever viewpoints he might espouse within hearing distance of those he was insulting—Elizabeth had taken Mr. Darcy for being rigidly proper and adhering to all rules of polite society. Surely a girl so much younger than he himself—and under his care—would be instructed in a similar fashion.

But Georgiana Darcy merely continued to chatter on, heedless of the fact she had invited a complete stranger to accompany her into a house which did not belong to her. The nearer they drew to the house, the more uncomfortable Elizabeth became. Cognizant as she was of Darcy's opinion of her, she could well imagine him believing she had intentionally withheld her identity from his modest sister for the intent of imposing herself upon Georgiana.

Finally, she could take it no longer. She stopped and turned to regard Georgiana, who halted as well and gazed curiously at her companion.

"I am sorry, but I believe we should make our introductions before we proceed any further. Since there is no one else in the vicinity to perform the task, I fear that we must make do."

Soft, girlish giggling met her ironic words, and the girl inclined her head. "My name is Georgiana Darcy, and I am sister to Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley estate in Derbyshire."

"I believe I have the advantage then, Miss Darcy. My name is Elizabeth Bennet, and I have previously had the pleasure of meeting both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley."

A shocked silence met her declaration, and she began to wonder whether the girl had heard something of her from her brother. Perhaps Miss Darcy's brother was as effusive in his disapproval of Elizabeth's appearance to more than just Mr. Bingley, thought Elizabeth, with no little feelings of disdain for the gentleman in question.

"Miss Bennet," Georgiana curtseyed slightly in greeting, a gesture which Elizabeth returned. "I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, but you have already met my brother? You were not at the assembly earlier this week, were you?"

"No, indeed," replied Elizabeth. "I was the victim of a small indisposition that night and was unable to attend."

"Then how have you met my brother?"

Elizabeth was surprised at the question, having assumed Miss Darcy had been told of the time the Bennet sisters had spent in the company of the gentlemen the day following the assembly. It appeared the siblings did not share such confidence as she would have imagined subsisting between two who had, after all, no further immediate family as far as Elizabeth had heard. But then again, their age difference was such that it was not surprising the elder brother did not confide in his sister as much as Elizabeth and Jane did with each other.

"Mr. Bingley called on my sisters and me the day after the assembly, and I was able to meet your brother at the same time."

Georgiana's questioning expression quickly turned to a frown as Elizabeth continued to relate the circumstances of her meeting with the two gentlemen, and by the time she had finished telling the story, Georgiana's lips were pursed, and her face had grown icy and disapproving.

"I see," responded the girl, finally, her voice having grown as cold as her face.

Unable to determine the reason for this sudden change in demeanor, Elizabeth searched Georgiana's face for any indication of what had displeased her, and she was startled to find a certain resemblance to the look which had adorned Mr. Darcy's face when he had proclaimed her to be less than handsome—the expression was so similar she could well imagine it had been removed from the man's and placed much as a mask over the young girl's face.

Elizabeth attempted to return the conversation to the pleasant and amiable discussion it had been before they had introduced themselves, but Georgiana merely responded in monosyllabic mumbles. For whatever reason, the girl was now quite displeased and refused to speak with her any further.

At length, after an uncomfortable silence, Georgiana proclaimed herself tired and in need of a nap, bent in the barest hint of a curtsey, and turned on her heel to march back toward Netherfield without any mention of the invitation which had already been offered. Elizabeth watched her walk off in astonishment—never in her life had she ever been witness to such impertinent rudeness! To invite someone for refreshments and then stalk off without another word was completely beyond the pale.

"Miss Bennet," a voice arrested her thoughts, and she turned to witness Mr. Bingley striding toward her, an anxious expression on his usually jovial features. "My apologies for my presumption—did something just occur between you and Miss Georgiana?"

"I hardly know, Mr. Bingley," answered Elizabeth, staring at the retreating figure of Georgiana Darcy until the girl turned a corner in the path and disappeared from view. "We were conversing famously until we made our introductions. When she found out who I was, she almost ran away from me."

"Where were you going together? Who introduced you?"

Elizabeth peered up into Mr. Bingley's eyes, mortified that he might consider the altercation to be at her instigation. After the impression she had apparently made on Mr. Darcy, she was not certain she could tolerate the poor opinion of yet another young man.

"We met in the woods, Mr. Bingley, and introduced ourselves since there was no one around to perform the task for us."

Mr. Bingley seemed to consider this, but the frown of confusion never left his face. "But Miss Bennet, were you going to Netherfield just now?"

"Yes. Georgiana had invited me to Netherfield for some refreshments."

"She did what?" Mr. Bingley appeared to be highly agitated, and he began to pace. "Then she left you without a word?"

Elizabeth hesitated. "I am afraid so, Mr. Bingley."

Mr. Bingley paced for several more moments, running his hands through his hair, before he turned to Elizabeth and bowed deeply. "Miss Bennet, please allow me to apologize for my guest's improper manners. If you will follow me to Netherfield, I assure you we can get to the bottom of this situation."

"Believe me—I do not blame you, Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth hastened to assure him. "I would prefer not to make any more of the situation, nor do I wish to mortify Miss Darcy's feelings. I believe I would rather simply return to my home."

Although Mr. Bingley seemed to wish to pursue the subject, he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "If that is your wish, Miss Bennet, then please allow me to set you on your way in my carriage. It is a long way to Longbourn, after all."

"I believe, sir, that I am an excellent walker. I have walked all the way here on my own, just this morning. I assure you, there is no need to worry for me."

"Perhaps not, Miss Bennet, but I insist. Please come with me, and I will order the carriage."

Seeing he was determined, Elizabeth inclined her head and fell into step with him. Their walk to the house was completed in silence, as Mr. Bingley's usual garrulity was absent in response to his concern over Georgiana's strange behavior. They reached the house in a few moments, and soon after that he had handed her up into the carriage. The instructions were passed to the driver and footmen, and then the carriage had begun to roll away from the park, leaving Elizabeth alone with her thoughts and the puzzle which was the Darcy siblings.


	9. Chapter IX

**CHAPTER IX**

In spite of Mr. Darcy's words regarding Elizabeth, Mary Bennet was the only one of the Bennet sisters who was truly plain, though perhaps it would be cruel to say such, for the truth of the matter was that she was only considered plain in comparison to her four sisters, who were each considered to be very handsome in their individual ways. Mary was actually a pleasant enough girl, with dark hair and a fair complexion, and if her face were to be considered to lack the beauty of the other Miss Bennets, it was certainly far from merely _plain_.

All of her life she had heard about her sisters' beauty and—although she was not meant to hear—about her own lack thereof. The very first time she had heard such a thing said, she had taken to her room and cried for hours, only comforted once her sister Elizabeth had come to her room in the attempt to console her. Having been so unfortunate as to hear the whole exchange, Elizabeth had coaxed Mary out of the doldrums and shown her the ways in which she could improve her appearance so as to overcome the disadvantage nature had given her. Mary had never forgotten her sister's kindness on that day, and while Mary was not a girl to display her emotions openly or express her appreciation in an animated fashion, Elizabeth became Mary's favorite sister—one to look up to and to share in such confidences as Mary was able to impart.

Unfortunately, as a consequence of being considered plainer than her sisters despite her attempts to improve upon her appearance, she began looking for other ways to distinguish and attract attention to herself. It was then that she discovered moral texts and the pianoforte, and she thereafter bent all of her efforts to become accomplished in the latter, while becoming knowledgeable in the former. Her success was mixed at best, a fact of which she herself was well aware. Her passion for sermonizing was often looked upon with annoyance and while Mary truly believed the things she read and took them to heart, the general reaction to her tendency toward piety was and exasperated sigh, coupled with a rolling of the eyes. And while her performance at the pianoforte was competent, it was generally considered to be without passion, regardless of her best efforts to the contrary. Of course, this only spurred her on to greater efforts to achieve that recognition she so desperately craved. Needless to say, the differences between Mary and her family were such that she often felt lonely and alone, even when with her sisters who were as unlike her as night was to day.

One morning, she was playing the pianoforte and singing with her weak voice and affected manner when Elizabeth and Kitty came into the room talking. Elizabeth had decided to confide in Kitty as to the scene which had happened between her and Miss Georgiana Darcy, for she was really quite puzzled as to why the girl had become so hostile. And so she asked Kitty of her opinion of the young lady who had become so cold so quickly.

"I am not quite sure, Lizzy," confessed Kitty in a quiet voice that she obviously did not wish Mary to hear. "I found Miss Georgiana a rather difficult girl to read. She seemed to alternate between coldness and warmth." Louder, she said: "Hello, Mary."

Mary's brow simply furrowed, and she continued to sing without acknowledging the entrance of her sisters.

Kitty, using her cane, moved closer to her sister. "I said 'hello,' Mary."

But Mary just started to play and sing louder.

Kitty finally stepped right beside her sister and reached out in quest for the music her sister was using. Upon finding it, she grasped it to herself. "Come, Mary, stop that caterwauling—will you not greet your sisters?"

The infuriated Mary shot to her feet. "While I am well aware of the proficiency you possess in regard to the pianoforte in spite of your handicap, Catherine, there are others of us who wish to benefit from extended study of the play of words and notes upon a page."

"Girls," cried Elizabeth, "there is no need to partake in such a dispute! You both have your skills, and there is no need to detract from those of the other by such a disagreement."

Mary grudgingly agreed: "St. Paul _did _tell the Philippians to do all things without murmurings and disputings."

As if on queue, an exaggerated sigh from her younger sister met her declaration, causing Mary to huff irritably in reply. She was only trying to make peace with Kitty after all! Sometimes Mary worried over her sisters' lack of piety, although certainly none of the older ones matched the total lack of propriety Lydia so often displayed. Still, the Lord did advise his children to turn the other cheek, and Mary was certainly experienced at _that_.

"You are right, Elizabeth, there is no need to continue this dispute any longer. I am done with the pianoforte, Kitty, should you wish to use it."

After Mary left the room, Kitty did indeed sit down at the instrument, but she did not start to play immediately. "Why are you so curious about Miss Georgiana Darcy, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth imparted the details of the strange scene she had had with Miss Darcy and then said: "I must confess, I am completely at a loss as to why she became so cold. To offer refreshments and then renege on the offer—even with such a brother as she has, I had thought Miss Darcy of better breeding than _that_."

Kitty seemed to ignore Elizabeth's negative comment about Mr. Darcy, pondering instead the situation with Miss Darcy. "It is indeed peculiar. Do you remember what you said before the change came on her?"

"I do not," said Elizabeth. "But I do remember that it was not worthy of such an expression of rudeness. I did not insult her family or question her bearing. She was quite amiable before being seized by her sudden transformation."

"Due to the suddenness of her change, I suspect there is a good reason behind it. You should take care to examine her in company, for I believe there is something which we are both missing. Now, what shall I play, Lizzy?" Her hands were poised above the instrument in front of her.

Elizabeth touched her sister's shoulder warmly. "Play whatever you would like."

Kitty moved her fingers to the pianoforte and began playing. Elizabeth, who had the better singing voice, accompanied her.

Despite her blindness, Kitty was remarkable with the instrument in front of her. The keys easily responded to the gentle pressure of her fingers, revealing the reason why Mary was so jealous of Kitty's skill. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet's second youngest seemed to combine the true emotion of Elizabeth's playing with the technical proficiency of Mary's playing. Though Kitty could not read music, she was able to learn music by ear, finding the notes based on what she heard, with only the very rare correction from her sisters. And Elizabeth, possessing the prettiest singing voice of all her sisters, loved singing with her sister accompanying—the effect of the two talents blending together was as fine as the small town of Meryton could boast, and they were often requested to share their talents at parties and assemblies.

Halfway through the piece, Jane came into the room, and she stood smiling at her two sisters, listening to their heartfelt music with great pleasure. Elizabeth and Kitty were Jane's dearest friends in the whole world. She would never do anything to make them unhappy, even if it meant she had to sacrifice her own happiness.

After the song was over, Elizabeth noticed her twin. "Oh!"

Jane smiled. "I have not been here for long. Please, continue."

"Play Mozart, Kitty—Sonata in C," suggested Elizabeth.

Kitty turned her head to show her eldest sister a smile. The piece was one of their favorites.

She played the first movement with ease, and her two sisters were pleased to merely stand and listen. Once Kitty began playing the second movement, however, Elizabeth's expression became one of mischief. Kitty passed through a few bars unaccompanied, but finally Elizabeth began to sing again, this time with lyrics which she was creating as she went:

_Jane—she was a lovely and nice girl,  
Who always thought so kind of everyone.  
__La da da dee oh da dah dah dee dah doh dee la la la la._

_And one day she met a kind man, Bingley,  
And it was love at first sight.  
Oh, how happy we are that everything is now set aright.  
_  
By this point, Kitty and Elizabeth were experiencing such mirth that they were unable to finish the song, while Jane merely stood close to them, a rosy blush affixed upon her features. It was a common game between the three closest Bennet sisters—the younger and the older trying to provoke a response from their shy and demure sister while Jane protested and stammered in embarrassment. Unfortunately for Jane, they generally knew which buttons to push in order to elicit a reaction.

"Girls!" exclaimed poor Jane, who was too embarrassed to say anything else.

But the two musical conspirators simply continued to laugh.


	10. Chapter X

**CHAPTER X**

Meals at Longbourn had the distinction of being rather confusing affairs if one were not especially acquainted with the family. One could not be surprised at the dearth of intelligent male conversation, given the makeup of the family—indeed, Mr. Bennet had had many opportunities to repine the lack of a son with whom to carry on a discussion which was not concerned with lace, the latest fashions, or whatever else young females were wont to discuss at the dinner table. Yet the makeup of the Bennet women was so disparate that their conversations were often rather muddled affairs, with sometimes two or even three competing discussions occurring at once.

Of course, the lack of a son was in many ways made up for by Mr. Bennet's eldest, who, being an intelligent and extremely well-read young lady, made up for much of the deficiency of conversation in her mother and most of her sisters. Indeed, Mr. Bennet found conversation with his Elizabeth to be a pleasing and diverting endeavor. Their shared penchant for laughing at the follies and inconsistencies of their neighbors was more often than not looked upon with complete bewilderment by some of the other occupants of the room, and the room was often filled with many a mournful exclamation from Mrs. Bennet at her eldest daughter's lack of decorum and inability to comport herself in a manner which would allow her to catch a suitable husband. Fortunately for Mrs. Bennet, she possessed neither the wit nor the perception to understand the looks which sometimes passed between father and daughter when these overt histrionics took place.

To say that Elizabeth did not love her mother was false—her mother was dear to her, as were all her sisters, although Lydia's determination to become to most infamous flirt in all of England was not something Elizabeth could countenance. Elizabeth, however, was not blind to her mother's lack of understanding and common sense, and she freely admitted the deficiency of her character which allowed her to sometimes make sport of her mother in a gentle yet amusing way.

Of course, Elizabeth, although she was Mr. Bennet's dearest daughter, was not the only one with a modicum of sense. Mr. Bennet understood Kitty to be nearest to her in terms of temperament, for Kitty, although not possessed of the dry and sometimes acerbic wit of her elder sister, was still in possession of a keen and discerning mind which allowed her to laugh at the sometimes humorous manner in which her elder sister and father conversed, and she even occasioned to add her own opinions and observations to contribute to their amusement. Jane, being possessed of a compliant and even-tempered disposition—one which Mr. Bennet suspected refused to allow any belief of the faults of others—was far too sweet and loving to become part of their discussions, although she would sometimes listen to them with an amused, if somewhat indulgent, air. Her understanding was no less than that of her sisters, and Bennet often found conversation with his second eldest, while wholesome and lacking in the playfulness of her sisters, to be satisfying in that she was intelligent and her views were not insipid.

Despite all this, Mr. Bennet sometimes longed for a male companion with whom to discourse. The fact that his wife loved to host dinner parties with those of their close acquaintance was an occasion for relief, but it was unfortunately one which did not occur frequently enough for Mr. Bennet. To make matters worse, his ill health prevented him from joining his neighbors in sport as much as he would like, leaving him to starve for the companionship of another man amidst a veritable gaggle of young women.

There was, unfortunately, no recourse to be had, as they were not to be in the company of Mr. Gardiner—Mrs. Bennet's younger brother—and his family until Christmas, and the oncoming visit of another gentleman, although Mr. Bennet hated to use the term considering the ridiculous letter he had received, could hardly satisfy him in his want of intelligent conversation. But such hardships must be endured, and Mr. Bennet knew that although everything he knew about the man suggested he was pompous and stupid, at least he would have the pleasure of being able to laugh at the young man without fear he would understand he was being sported with.

Nothing remained to do but to inform his wife of the impending visit and make her aware of another piece of correspondence which he had recently received.

The breakfast table was unusually subdued, and the ladies of the house seemed to be concentrating more on their meals than on whatever gossip was now fashionable in the area. It was in this attitude that Mr. Bennet decided to make his communication before the conversation once again erupted in incomprehensible and nonsensical ramblings.

"Mrs. Bennet, my dear," said he, "if I might have a moment of your time, I believe I have news of the greatest import to disclose to you."

"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," replied his wife. "And pray, what could that be?"

"Why, that your talents as a superior hostess will soon be put to the test with the arrival of another to our family party."

Mrs. Bennet was startled by her husband's assertion and immediately began fidgeting with her napkin. "And might I know the identity of this illustrious personage who will soon require our attention?"

"I have no qualms in telling you, my dear. In less than a se'ennight's time, you will be most fortunate to be able to host the next master of this estate, the illustrious Mr. Collins himself."

"Mr. Bennet!" cried she, "how can you be so teasing? You must know I detest the very sound of the man's name."

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Bennet—I have heard you wax poetic on more than one occasion about your dislike for the young man. In fact, I daresay the entire neighborhood is aware of the lack of esteem in which you hold young Master Collins, as you have never kept your opinion from our acquaintances over the years of our marriage."

"And why should I? Do you mean to tell me I should feel any differently to know that I will one day be replaced—shunted aside—by that odious man?"

"I am certain Mr. Collins has every intention of personally seeing to your starving in the hedgerows, madam."  
**  
**"I am certain he has! It is the hardest thing in the world that the estate should be entailed away from your own daughters, Mr. Bennet, and settled on so unworthy a young man. Why should the estate only pass through the male line, pray tell? It should go to Lizzy, as she seems to have a certain… aptitude and liking for estate matters, given the assistance she has provided to you."

It was an old argument, one which had been debated by the family many times. Unfortunately, the more perceptive members of the family had had no luck in convincing the Bennet matron that although there were undoubtedly many estates which were allowed to pass through the female line, Longbourn was not one of them, nor was there anything the present proprietor could do to alter the terms of its inheritance. Privately, Mr. Bennet suspected his wife understood very well the nature of the entail and from where it had originated. It was, however, an old complaint which she was incapable—or unwilling—to release, much as a dog protects and worries at an old bone. Mr. Bennet was not about to get into such a discussion with his wife, having heard the grievance uttered far too many times for comfort.

As it turned out, he was saved from having to listen to her rant about the status of the entail by his eldest daughter, no doubt understanding herself where the conversation was heading.

"Mamma," scolded Elizabeth, "I am certain the young man has done nothing to earn your disapproval. He can hardly be faulted for the terms of the entail, which were hardly of his doing."

"Nor for the accident of birth which made him the heir of this estate," added Kitty.

"Yes, yes, that is all very fine," persisted Mrs. Bennet, "yet I fail to understand why we must suffer this loathsome man in our home for an instant more than he is entitled. Why should we allow him to inspect our home with his coveting eyes and allow him to catalog our possessions as if they were already his?"

Mr. Bennet chuckled, excessively diverted over his wife's indignant and self-righteous lamentations. If nothing else, the time in which Collins would grace their humble abode would not be dull.

To his wife, he merely smiled and said: "I have a letter here from him. Would you not like to hear the method in which he expresses himself?"

"If you must, Mr. Bennet. I must say that I still quite detest the very sound of his name."

Vastly amused by his wife's intemperate—although quite predictable—reaction, Mr. Bennet began to read:

_Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th October._

_Dear Sir,_

_My purpose for writing to you in this fashion is to attempt a reconciliation between the two branches of our family and restore each other to the convenience and society which must be a blessing and a joy to two most intimately related people. My late father was not often prevailed upon to discuss the circumstances in which this breach in the family was originally initiated, but his abuse of you on many occasions was such that I was never able to comfortably set my mind to attempt what I believed in my heart to be a necessary reconciliation._

_However, recently I have been referred to the valuable living of Hunsford in Kent and have obtained the patronage and condescension of the honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who, in her Christian generosity, has correctly pointed out that although respect and devotion to one's parents is a commendable and worthy pursuit, promoting the values of friendship, esteem, and forgiveness are paramount to the position of clergy and can only bring benefit to the parish in the manner of showing an example before one's flock._

_In doing this, I hope my efforts will not only be commendable but will also allow myself to rise in your esteem and allow yourself to indulge the second reason for my desire to visit with you. I have come to the understanding that you, Mr. Bennet, are the father of five very pretty and amiable daughters. As my noble patroness has so recently pointed out, my continued status as a bachelor does nothing to promote an example in the parish of the proper respect for our Lord's commandments regarding the sanctity and necessity of the marriage ordinance, and I have determined that I may have a means of making amends to your daughters for being the eventual means of disinheriting them from their home at my disposal by engaging myself to one of them. In doing this, I will allow you the comfort of seeing one of your daughters—who, although amiable and all that is good, may never receive an offer of marriage from any young man—comfortably settled as the mistress of my situation in Kent and later on as the mistress of your estate in Hertfordshire. Of course, this will also satisfy my patroness's demand that I marry soon and will provide me with the joy and affection of the companion of my future life._

_If you are agreeable to this design, I propose the pleasure of waiting upon you on Friday, the 25th of October, where I may arrive by four o'clock, and I ask to be allowed to trespass upon your hospitality for a fortnight after this, during which time I will avail myself of the opportunity of making myself agreeable to your daughters and obtaining the promise I desire. We may converse about this more upon my arrival. Until then, I wish you all the health and felicity you so richly deserve and take this opportunity to call you my sincere friend._

_William Collins  
_  
The responses from the females of the family were everything Mr. Bennet would have expected from them, although he was by no means less diverted for having predicted their reactions in advance. Lydia was, of course, the easiest to predict, as she contented herself with nothing more than an indelicate snort at the thought of marrying a clergyman and immediately returned to her contemplation of redcoats and the recent arrival of a company of militia to the area. Mary, predictably, did some moralizing on the subject and voiced her firm approval for the obvious piety of the young man. Jane could not be moved to respond to the letter, though Mr. Bennet was certain he could detect the slightest tightening around her mouth at the thought of the young man's journeying to Hertfordshire with the intent of marrying her or one of her sisters. Although Jane would never admit to thinking ill of someone, Mr. Bennet knew she could tell from the tone of Mr. Collins that he was not someone she would be happy with, and he suspected she felt herself to be a target given her generally lauded beauty. Of course, Elizabeth and Kitty merely rolled their eyes and waited for their father's biting comments, knowing they would be diverted immensely by his sardonic remarks.

But Mr. Bennet was too involved in being amused by his wife to answer his daughters' expectation of sporting with his—he suspected—pompous and slightly stupid cousin. Mrs. Bennet, although loudly decrying the imminent visit of the man who was to be the means of rendering her destitute only moments before, was silent for several moments as the implications of the young man's words made their way through her consciousness. It took slightly more time than her husband would have expected, but once she had understood the implications of the letter, her delight was soon almost as violent as her earlier dislike. As a woman who had made it her life's work to marry off her daughters as soon as may be—and it really did not signify to whom, as long as they were rich, preferably, or at least able to support a family—this opportunity to get rid of one of them with very little effort on her part was a pleasing thought, as marrying one of her daughters to Mr. Collins would allow her to remain in residence once her husband departed to meet his maker.

Of even greater amusement to Mr. Bennet were the calculating looks Mrs. Bennet immediately directed toward her eldest daughter, whom she obviously believed to be oblivious to her mother's regard. Elizabeth was, in reality, very aware of her mother's scrutiny and perfectly enlightened as to its meaning. She could not be bothered to dissuade her mother from such a plan, however, as Mr. Bennet knew she was confident in her father's refusal to offer consent to anything to which she did not accede and was sensible of her own ability to take care of herself in the face of her cousin's ludicrousness.

"What a wonderful thing for our girls!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet.

"How so, Mrs. Bennet?"

The look she directed at her husband made him want to laugh out loud—she obviously considered the question to be daft. "Why, his expressed purpose in coming to Longbourn is to secure the hand of one our daughters in marriage. Just think of it, Mr. Bennet! With a daughter married to your cousin, our futures would be secured."

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Bennet. I understand his desire. However, before you offer one—or all—of our daughters to Mr. Collins, I suggest you ask their opinions on the matter."

"Their opinions?" cried she. "Whatever can you be speaking of? What do their opinions have to do with it?"

"Any one of them must give their consent to the match, must they not? Perhaps none of them will develop a regard for the young man."

"They will do their duty!" snapped Mrs. Bennet. Her voice was now gaining in strength and volume, causing more than one of the members of the family to wince in pain. "In fact, Lizzy, as the eldest, should do her duty and offer herself to Mr. Collins directly when he arrives. Yes, I believe Lizzy will do well as a parson's wife."

"Mrs. Bennet, you will in no way direct your daughter to act so shamefully!" said Mr. Bennet. His voice was as hard as iron, and all the amusement he had felt upon reading the letter was gone. "I will not have any of my daughters married to a man against her will, especially a man whom I suspect is one of the silliest in all of England."

"But Mr. Bennet—"

"No, Fanny! Not another word. If Lizzy should have the misfortune and complete lack of judgment to develop an attachment to my cousin, I will not stand in her way. Otherwise, you will most certainly not browbeat your eldest into accepting a marriage proposal when she has little inclination for doing so!"

A quiet descended upon the table. Mrs. Bennet knew from previous experience when her husband was not in the mood to be gainsaid and, as a result, held her tongue. Her eyes, however, told a different story, for she continued to regard her eldest daughter, sizing her up for her wedding clothes, if Bennet was any judge of her character.

Elizabeth, apparently wanting to change the subject, regarded her father before saying:

"Papa, you have only spoke of one of your letters. What does the other one say?"

"It is from your Uncle Gardiner. It appears that his business has interfered with their annual plans to spend Christmas at Longbourn, and he entreats us to join them in London for the holiday."

Predictably, the response from his family was unanimous in their approbation and general enthusiasm for the idea. It was only a few moments before a very resigned Mr. Bennet agreed with his family that they should all travel to London for Christmas, although he would not agree to staying as long as the new year. The disappointment rendered by this resolution was momentary, as Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty soon conceived of a plan to ask their relations if they might stay in the capital, Lydia loudly proclaiming she would rather return to Longbourn to spend time with the officers of the regiment, while Mary, unusually quiet and reflective even for her, stayed completely silent on the matter.

Knowing he would have nothing to add to the chatter of several female voices talking about lace and shopping, Mr. Bennet soon retired to his study, thinking to himself that Gardiner owed him a rather large debt—as well as many peaceful evenings spent in his study—so as to avoid the general boisterous nature of his wife and daughters when they went to town.


	11. Chapter XI

**CHAPTER XI**

On the 22nd of October, a large party was assembled at Sir William Lucas' estate. Sir William Lucas had made a small fortune in trade, and after making an address to the king at St. James' Court during his mayoralty, he had been conferred the rank of knighthood. Becoming a knight had made him assured of his own importance in the world, so he had moved with his family from Meryton to the home about a mile away which was now dubbed Lucas Lodge. At Lucas Lodge, he could live at his leisure without the shackles of business to hold him down, basking in the pleasure of his standing in the world. Despite his self-assurance, however, he was not an unapproachably proud man; rather, he took delight in being very attentive to all those around him.

The Bennets were particularly intimate with the Lucas family, as the residence of the Lucas family was within a short walk of Longbourn, and at a gathering such as this, one family could usually not be found in attendance without the other. That the two families had mothers who loved to gossip, young daughters who were generally of age with one another, and fathers who could often be found taking counsel with one another only served to make them even closer friends.

When the Bennets came to Sir William Lucas's assembly, he warmly expressed how happy he was that they were able to attend. "And you shall even find," noted he in a jovial and almost mysterious manner, "that the great Mr. Darcy himself has joined us tonight!"

Elizabeth could not help but comment quietly: "I am surprised he should have deigned to come to such a happy gathering. I had begun to wonder if perhaps he delighted in being morose."

"Lizzy!" admonished Jane.

Fortunately, Sir William Lucas had not heard Elizabeth, for he had just seen the arrival of some new guests, and he excused himself to go greet them. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet immediately left their daughters in search of kindred souls, while Lydia quickly left her four sisters in search of single men.

"I am sorry, Jane," said Elizabeth, who was in reality not sorry at all. "But I do wonder at him, and it is not just due to the blow he gave to my vanity. If he so detests 'country families,' why attend any assemblies at all?"

"Perhaps he does not think so ill of our society as you believe," remarked Kitty.

"You had better be careful, Kitty, or I should start to think that you had an interest in Mr. Darcy of your own."

Had Elizabeth been looking at the second-youngest Bennet, she might have noticed a light pink tinge to her cheeks. But she was not, and Kitty was very grateful when Jane tugged her to go with her to visit with some friends.

After watching them leave, Elizabeth looked around in a vain hope that Charlotte Lucas might for some reason have chosen to leave her position as governess.

"These assemblies are good to lighten the soul," commented Mary, who was still with her eldest sister.

"Perhaps," sighed Elizabeth, who thought an assembly at Lucas Lodge without Charlotte was an assembly incapable of lightening her soul.

A few seconds later, Mary whispered in warning: "Lizzy."

Elizabeth turned her head to see what her sister was looking at, and she nearly gasped as she saw Mr. Darcy's tall and imposing figure walking toward them determinedly.

"What can he want?" wondered Elizabeth out loud. Her thoughts flickered back to Miss Georgiana, to whom Elizabeth was certain Mr. Darcy had related, in full, his low opinion of Elizabeth's person, and she resolved on being cool and firm.

But he was soon upon them. He greeted them, and they curtseyed in response.

"I wonder if I might have a word with you, Miss Elizabeth?"

Wondering at Mr. Darcy's use of her first name when she was the eldest daughter, Elizabeth, knowing she really had little choice, inclined her head in assent rather stiffly. Mr. Darcy bowed his head in response and gestured for her to precede him. Elizabeth, directing a carefully hidden grimace of distaste for her companion to a clearly unamused Mary, departed from her sister to face the man who had so cavalierly disparaged her.

Mr. Darcy was not in the habit of giving apologies, though, as his friend had noted, he had certainly done so before--and recently to two other Miss Bennets. But he was particularly relieved that he had resolved on making an apology to Elizabeth Bennet. Nevertheless, as he looked at her now, he sought to justify the comment he had made to Mr. Bingley, even though he had no intention of sharing such justification with the present object of his attention. There was no perfect symmetry to her figure, he told himself, and her face was hardly in possession of good features. But yet, as he looked at her again--and particularly as their conversation progressed--he found that her face was made remarkably pleasing by the intelligence found in her dark eyes.

They walked around quietly for perhaps a minute before Mr. Darcy finally began to talk. "I wanted to apologize to you, Miss Bennet, for my unkind comments."

He was about to say more, but Elizabeth, despite her resolution to be cool, spoke with a playful smile. "I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that my ego was not excessively battered by your words. I have far too strong an opinion of myself to allow such words to have a major effect on me. And surely, sir, you must think that I deserved what I received--after all, I was committing an act of espionage at the time."

"Espionage is not the typical word used to refer to such a situation, Miss Bennet. I sense you have a penchant for exaggeration."

"And I sense you have a penchant for the disagreeable," returned Elizabeth in good humor. "It seems we both have our faults."

And then Mr. Darcy, whose countenance was always so serious, actually gave her a wry smile. "Indeed."

"Why, I am shocked, Mr. Darcy!"

The man's brow furrowed. "What is it, Miss Bennet?"

"I had said you were incapable of smiling. It seems I owe Kitty a new ribbon after all."

"Tell me, Miss Bennet, do you make a habit of forming bets concerning new acquaintances?"

"Only when they cause as much of a stir among the people of Hertfordshire as you and Mr. Bingley have."

Mr. Darcy lifted an eyebrow. "Am I then to assume that you have made a wager concerning my friend as well?"

Elizabeth gave him a secretive smile. "Now, that would be telling, Mr. Darcy. You cannot expect a woman to share all of her secrets." She told herself that she certainly would not share her secrets with such a disagreeable man as Mr. Darcy.

"I suppose not." He hesitated a few moments before saying:

"I want to apologize again, Miss Bennet, and perhaps explain myself a little further."

But this went against Elizabeth's plans, as she was determined not to like the man. "Mr. Darcy--"

"No, please let me continue. You see, I am not a man who is accustomed to openly sharing feelings with anyone, not even people with whom I am well acquainted. That day outside your house, Bingley was pressuring me into admitting an attachment which I do not feel. I certainly have not come to Hertfordshire with the desire of participating in such diversions as my friend desires for me. My comment on your appearance was not intended as a slight against you; rather, I was trying to dissuade Bingley from making such talk as he was."

"You may consider your apology accepted, Mr. Darcy. Though I am not without my vanity, it is not such that I will stubbornly cling to your former unkind words and refuse your present kind ones."

As Mr. Darcy looked at her, he reflected that her expressive eyes were indeed in possession of beauty and that the smile which tugged at her lips was also pleasing. He was forced to acknowledge to himself that the compliments Bingley had bestowed on her were not made without veracity--and her manner, though it was not of the sort he was accustomed to seeing in the more fashionable circles of England, appealed to him with its pleasant playfulness.

"Miss Bennet?" ventured Mr. Darcy after making these observations to himself.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy's hesitation was just barely perceptible. "Bingley is to have a ball at Netherfield--your whole family will receive an invitation, of course--and I was wondering if I might be given the honor of standing the first dance with you?"

If Mr. Darcy had asked Elizabeth for her hand in marriage, she could hardly have been as surprised. "Excuse me, Mr. Darcy?"

"You must promise me the first dance." The man had become stiff, and the seriousness which had seemed to be melting away in the course of their conversation was now back.

"But I quite detest dancing--even had I known before now that Mr. Bingley was to have a dance, I should not have intended to go." She gave him a puzzled look. "I had thought you hated dancing yourself, Mr. Darcy."

The man's mouth was in a hard line. "I am not completely averse to the activity. I merely find that often the company at such dances is lacking."

"You do not have to ask me to dance in an attempt to appease my vanity."

"I am doing nothing of the sort. I am merely asking you to dance with me at Netherfield."

Elizabeth hardly knew what else to say, so she finally agreed to his request. He bowed and took his leave of her, and she watched his departure with a frown. Mr. Darcy--asking her to dance with him! She did not know what to make of this development.

The man went over to his sister, who looked up at her brother with great pleasure. Elizabeth saw, not without a lot of surprise, that Mr. Darcy actually gave Georgiana a tender smile. Then he bent over to whisper something in her ear.

Georgiana beamed and then made a query which seemed to be, "Who?"

Mr. Darcy spoke softly to her one more time, and a frown spread across her face. Her eyes then lifted to meet those of Elizabeth, who flushed at having been caught staring. Mr. Darcy caught the look his sister gave Elizabeth and bent down to say what must have been a negative word, for it caused Miss Darcy's countenance to become sorrowful.

Throughout the night, Elizabeth found her gaze drawn back to the two Darcys. Mr. Darcy, it seemed, was a happier sort of person when in his sister's presence, as if she lightened the heavy load bestowed on him by his pride. Elizabeth, however, was determined not to like Miss Darcy any the better for it. The rudeness which had been displayed by that girl was completely uncalled for, Elizabeth thought.

Eventually, the subject of her thoughts actually came up to her and asked to speak to her alone.

Elizabeth, who had been talking with Lady Lucas about how much Charlotte was missed, asked to be excused.

Miss Georgiana Darcy turned her head to look at her brother, who gave her a stern nod. Cowed, she quietly began to speak to Elizabeth. "Miss--Miss Bennet," began Georgiana. She was trembling and looked as if she were about to cry. "I have come to--to apologize to you." She paused, trying to pull herself together.

Elizabeth could not help but take pity on the girl. Georgiana kept looking to her brother, as if desiring that he come and help her, but he merely gazed at her firmly. It was obvious that she was making the apology at his instigation.

"What I d-did was inexcusable. I--behaved imp-improperly, and I humbly beg you to--to forgive me."

Though Elizabeth had earlier been thinking ill of this girl, she felt the sting of the humiliation Miss Darcy was facing almost as much as Miss Darcy herself. And so, she pressed her hands on Miss Darcy's and told her all was forgiven.

When Georgiana Darcy returned to her brother, Elizabeth saw the latter murmur some words of approval. It seemed he was molding his sister into a proper lady. That Elizabeth was the source of that lesson, she did not so much mind, though she still wondered at the mysteriousness of the drastic change Miss Darcy had made upon learning of her name.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth saw Jane and Mr. Bingley walk over to the Darcy siblings. Mr. Bingley's preference for Jane was quite obvious, and Elizabeth saw, much to her confusion and slight annoyance, Georgiana looking at the sweet Jane with something very close to the coldness she had expressed toward Elizabeth during the encounter for which she had apologized. Elizabeth began to feel overcome by indignation, but a few more seconds of contemplation finally solved two mysteries for her--for she realized that Georgiana had feelings of a romantic sort for Mr. Bingley. The reason for Georgiana's coldness to Elizabeth shortly after learning her name--and to Jane while merely being in her presence--was finally clear. Miss Darcy was upset that Mr. Bingley was showing interest in someone else--which meant that Elizabeth was implicated simply by her relation to Jane.

Perhaps what was most frustrating about this realization of Elizabeth's was that she realized she could no longer hold on to her extreme annoyance with Mr. Darcy--he had not laughed about her appearance while conversing with his sister. And as he had apologized for his harsh words and even pressed his sister to apologize for her own rudeness, the only thing of which she could accuse him was excessive pride. And was not that even somewhat understandable due to his standing in the world? And was it not also ameliorated by the fact that he had been the cause of two Darcys temporarily swallowing their pride to ask for forgiveness?

No, she decided; even though he had apologized for his rude comment, and she must therefore forgive it, she was determined not to forget it. That she was being unreasonable, she most surely knew. But a wound to vanity is seldom easily forgotten, even should the giver of that blow be ten times as kind as Mr. Darcy in requesting forgiveness.


	12. Chapter XII

**CHAPTER XII**

Mr. Collins was received at Longbourn at precisely four o'clock on October 25th. His punctuality was very disagreeable to Mrs. Bennet, who, despite his intent to marry one of her daughters, had much rather he had never shown up at all--or at least that he had through unpunctuality given her some sort of flaw about which she could moan when not in his presence. Despite Mrs. Bennet's personal feelings, however, Mr. Collins was welcomed with all politeness by the Bennet family. His letter had not done much to endear him to the sensibilities of his cousins, but Lydia found herself to be especially repulsed by him. Though he was tall man of five-and-twenty, he was rather heavy and--lacking even a red coat which would at least add some appeal to his outward appearance--was not one who would draw the pleased eye of such a girl as Lydia, particularly as she, along with all her sisters, knew that part of his purpose in visiting Longbourn was to attain a wife.

After greeting Mr. Collins, Mr. Bennet said little, instead contenting himself with watching the man and taking delight in his foibles. Mr. Collins was one of those rare types with whom Mr. Bennet wished he would come into contact more frequently, though he did desire those times of contact to be of short duration.

As Mr. Collins passed through Longbourn, he exclaimed over every table, chair, and window; not an item of furniture in the Bennet home seemed to go unnoticed, and Mrs. Bennet might have been pleased had she not felt he was surveying everything with the thought that it would all eventually be his. As it was, it took all of her will-power to keep from crying out about her nerves and asking for her smelling salts.

Mr. Collins quickly showed himself to be in possession of very formal manners. When he spoke, he was very solemn, as if every word which fell out of his mouth were of the utmost wisdom and importance; indeed, he was very inclined toward speaking as often as he could without overstepping the more obvious bounds of propriety, though it was to be wondered if he truly understood how sometimes loquaciousness was more undesirable than the occasional faux pas.

"I must say, madam, you have such fine daughters," complimented Mr. Collins after he had been seated for but a few minutes. The subject of his cousins seemed to instill a great eagerness in him.

Mrs. Bennet, though she was not particularly disposed to like the man, could not help but warm to his compliment. "I thank you, Mr. Collins. They are much praised throughout Hertfordshire, if I may be so bold as to say."

"You may indeed, madam. I have heard great tales of their beauty, but I must say that words simply did not do justice to that which I find before me. You must be very proud of my dear cousins, and I am sure that they will all be happily married in due time."

"We certainly hope they will, Mr. Collins," owned Mrs. Bennet. "Only, I must confess, I am particularly anxious that they do so, for otherwise they will find themselves impoverished. The very thought of it breaks my heart."

"I suspect you are alluding to the entail of this estate."

"Ah, yes, I suppose I am. It is just so difficult for my girls, you know. Though the whole situation brings me much grief, I do not fault you for the matter of this entail. There is no knowing the way estates will be forced to go."

"I do not wish for you to be concerned that such lovely young ladies will ever find themselves in a situation as bleak as that which you paint. I have come here with the intent to admire them, and I am certain there are many other men who wish to do the same."

Lydia rolled her eyes, and Elizabeth fixed her with a stern glare. The former mouthed something mocking concerning their cousin, and the latter shook her head in warning.

Jane, striving to keep the attention of Mr. Collins away from the quiet interaction taking place between her sisters, said:

"We are much pleased to find you such a well-meaning man. Your kindness in attempting to heal the breach between our families is certainly appreciated."

Mr. Collins replied that it was no trouble at all, and he smiled at Jane and reflected on how handsome she was. Her manners seemed most excellent, and he was certain that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would find her charming. Yes--the more he looked at her, the more certain he was that she would be a most fitting wife for a clergyman such as himself. By setting his attentions on her, he would be certain to bring honor to himself, his future heirs, and his parish. Determined that such a course was the best one, he said:

"I wonder if my cousin Jane might give me a tour of the grounds?"

He missed the look of near-panic which passed quickly across Jane's face. Elizabeth, however, did not.

"I think Jane has been feeling a little fatigued today," said Elizabeth. "And as we are all much enjoying your conversation, we would not want you to deprive us of it so soon."

"Indeed," seconded Kitty, "that would be quite a pity."

Mr. Collins completely missed the lack of sincerity in Kitty's tone. "Ah, well, perhaps I can see the grounds later. I am certainly admiring this drawing-room. Have you made many improvements on it since you have been here, madam?"

"This room has always been a fine one," replied Mrs. Bennet, who appeared to feel that Mr. Collins was starting to make himself disagreeable.

"Perhaps we can give you a tour of Longbourn," suggested Elizabeth, sensing that her mother's nerves were threatening to flare up.

The tour was agreed to, and the group left the drawing room. They had not gone far before Lydia had managed to disappear, though her absence was noted only by her two eldest sisters.

The tour of the house was as disagreeable and ridiculous as Elizabeth could have predicted in advance. Much as in the parlor, nothing was beneath Mr. Collins's notice--not even the smallest knicknack could escape his hawk-like eyes. And though the assembled Bennets quickly felt as though they would be quite exceedingly pleased never to hear his voice again, he kept up an ongoing monologue, praising everything he could think of while interspersing his comments of Longbourn with stories of his patroness and her home of Rosings Park. Indeed, his comparisons were often ridiculous and never described the comfortable yet modest Longbourn in any positive manner when comparing it with the grand nature of his patroness' home.

When the party entered one of the sitting rooms and stood before Mrs. Bennet's favorite chair, Mr. Collins told them:

"This chair reminds me of one residing in the servants' quarters at Rosings--that is, her ladyship's home."

Mrs. Bennet seemed struck speechless, and Mr. Bennet was suddenly filled with mirth.

"A chair such as this is used by servants, you say?" ventured Mr. Bennet.

Mrs. Bennet's ability to talk had still not returned to her, and Mr. Collins responded to his cousin's question. "Ah, yes. The fabric of the chair at Rosings is finer, however. This one is rather admirable, though."

Mrs. Bennet finally managed to speak. "We thank you, I am sure."

Even Mr. Collins could sense the discontent in her voice, and he very quickly backpedaled. "Ah, madam, I mortified to discover I have offended you! You see, the conditions at Rosings are very magnificent indeed. Almost royal, if I may be so bold. I did not mean any slight on the furniture at Longbourn, for the situation here is very comfortable indeed, but surely you must understand how very grand Rosings is."

And then he began to detail some of the very impressive articles of furniture which were to be found in the residence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, even going so far as to regale them with tales of Rosings's many magnificent windows.

As Mr. Collins continued remarking on the various items he came upon, Mr. Bennet occasionally stepped into the conversation to prompt his cousin on some insignificant detail regarding a painting or a sofa at Rosings so he could--with great satisfaction--witness more of Mr. Collins's exercising his unending loquaciousness.

"If the furniture is so fine," said Elizabeth at last, "I wonder that you are able to sit down at all."

Mr. Collins completely missed the sarcasm of her statement and assured her that the condescension of her ladyship was very great and that her generosity, quite simply, knew no bounds.

"Her ladyship sounds like an ideal patroness," commented Mary, who had heretofore been rather quiet.

"Oh, she is indeed. I am most fortunate to have a patroness who so frequently bestows acts of kindness on me."

"The Good Lord provideth for his worthy sheep," noted Mary.

Mr. Collins nodded his acquiescence. "He certainly does, does he not, Cousin Jane?"

Jane flushed and indicated her assent. It was all Elizabeth could do to keep from scowling.

"I think Mr. Bingley would agree with that sentiment in particular," said Elizabeth. Her statement was not exactly fitting to the occasion, but she thought that it would be best for Mr. Collins to find out quickly that Jane was already attached to another man.

"Lizzy," said Jane under her breath in warning.

But Mr. Collins's attention was caught by a small table, and he was exclaiming over its fine craftsmanship, not having noticed Elizabeth's statement at all.

Mrs. Bennet's countenance darkened, and all her daughters could sense the thought which was passing through her head: Mr. Collins was looking at all of the furniture as items which he would one day own. And if they had any doubt as to those thoughts, if they listened closely enough, they could hear Mrs. Bennet muttering about how the whole world would be much improved if entails had never been created.


	13. Chapter XIII

**A/N:** Thanks again for reading. We were wondering whether anyone can tell the differences in our writing style and can tell who wrote what parts. If anyone has any opinions, please put it into a review!

**CHAPTER XIII**

The very next day, Mr. Collins decided he would speak with Mr. Bennet in private. He was certain it would be proper to talk to the man and note his desire for a wife; after all, the matter very closely concerned Mr. Bennet and his daughters. Indeed, Mr. Collins was doing such a selfless thing by deciding to marry one of the Miss Bennets that he imagined Mr. Bennet would be quite overwhelmed and immensely grateful at the prospect of having such a generous son-in-law.

An inquiry revealed that the head of the household was hidden away in his library, where he was apparently often to be found. The servant had been instructed that he not be disturbed, but Mr. Collins said that surely Mr. Bennet would not stand on such formalities with him, and he brushed past the flustered servant and went into the room without any further words.

At the other man's entrance, Mr. Bennet looked up from his book and welcomed him. Mr. Collins preened and basked in the notice he was certain he deserved as a member of the clergy and gave a slight bow to his future father-in-law.

"As a clergyman," began he, "I am certainly aware of the precious value of one's free time, but I assure you that that which I have to say to you is of the utmost import, and I hope you will oblige me by sparing some few moments in which we may discuss a situation very dear to my heart and, I may presume, very dear to yours."

Mr. Collins, pompous and oblivious as he was, missed the Bennet patriarch's smile of vast amusement at his expense. Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair and indicated the clergyman should continue. "Go on, Mr. Collins."

"I am more than aware of the great hardship which the entail of Longbourn has brought upon your family, and in light of your family's great misfortunes, I have, as I noted previously, come prepared to admire your handsome daughters."

Mr. Bennet smirked and turned back to his book with a nod. "Ah, good. You may join their other admirers then. Young ladies do so enjoy being admired."

Mr. Collins hesitated. "I confess that I am not wishing to become one entity lost among their admirers; rather, I have a singular object in mind from which my abundant admiration of them flows most readily."

Mr. Bennet was secretly mirthful at the absurdity of this man. It enabled him to indulge in his favorite pastime of ridicule. "Then your admiration is actually false, Mr. Collins?"

"No, no," assured the other man hastily, "my admiration is genuine. It is just precipitated by certain other circumstances."

"And what circumstances might these be?"

"My most esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has assured me that it is in my best interests to procure a wife for myself, and I certainly bow down to the infinite wisdom of her kind instruction, as I have already noted to you in my letter, and I flatter myself that my intentions toward your amiable family is highly commendable. Mr. Bennet, I am aware of the poor financial prospects faced by your daughters in the event of your death, and I must say that considering the matter aggrieves me greatly. The Lord has admonished us, after all, many times about the beneficial nature of sacrifice, which it certainly must be, as by tying myself to one of your daughters, I must necessarily be responsible for your entire family once you are gone."

The wonder of Mr. Bennet knew no bounds at the audacity and utter moronic lack of any kind of tact inherent in the young man's speech. But Mr. Collins was not done.

"It must be admitted that all of your daughters are very handsome and worthy of admiration, but I am particularly interested in the fine manners of your second eldest daughter. I am of the stout belief that my cousin Jane would make a fine clergyman's wife--"

Mr. Bennet closed his book with a resounding bang, interrupting the man's interminable blathering. This was not what Mr. Bennet had in mind when he had thought to enjoy the buffoon's silliness. To approach a man regarding marriage to his daughter when having arrived only the previous day--and before gauging the lady's own interest--was a social faux pas of the first order. Of course, Mr. Collins was so oblivious to proper manners that he obviously thought he was paying Mr. Bennet the highest of courtesy by coming right to the point. That the man should focus on Jane, the humblest and most modest of all his daughters (and the most defenseless, due to her inability to hurt another being), was merely the final blow for the Bennet Patriarch. In no way would he have Jane imposed upon by this sorry excuse for a suitor!

"Mr. Collins, have you taken leave of your senses?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I should no sooner have Jane marry you than I should have my Lizzy marry a cockroach. In case you have not heard, Mr. Collins, there is a nice young man called Mr. Bingley who seems to have caught Jane's eye. It is generally assumed that they will be engaged soon."

Though in other circumstances Mr. Bennet would have been quite amused and satisfied to see the expression of affront on the clergyman's face, he was far too incensed in this instance with the young man to enjoy it properly.

"I understand," said Mr. Collins rigidly, before bowing rather stiffly.

He took his leave of his cousin and went outside to stand beneath a nearby tree, wringing his hands and berating the audacity of the man, upset that his suit should be dismissed so summarily. What was the man thinking to reject him thus? Was he not aware of the very great peril in which he put his family by rejecting Collins' most agreeable and eligible offer? Was Mr. Bennet insensible to the very great sacrifice he was making by providing himself as a suitor to his most beautiful daughter? He surveyed the house in front of him. It was a good enough residence--modest, yet comfortable--and it would be his soon. Why should Jane Bennet not become his wife rather than this Mr. Bingley's?

After sulking beneath the tree for some time, still wondering why Mr. Bennet should so conspire against his good-willed offer, he went back into the house, where he was accosted by Mrs. Bennet.

"Ah, Mr. Collins! What have you been doing outside?"

"Admiring the landscape," answered the man curtly.

"Surely you are not already tired of our home, Mr. Collins?"

"I can most humbly assure you that is not the case."

Mrs. Bennet looked at the man for a few moments, and then, deciding his current foul mood could suit her purposes, she trudged ahead. "You know, Mr. Collins, my eldest daughter would make some fine young man an excellent wife. You must admit that Lizzy is very handsome."

He allowed that it was so. Mr. Collins, in truth, was not an admirer of Miss Elizabeth, not when the beauty of her sister was so immediately available for comparison. He allowed her a pleasant enough aspect and impeccable manners, but there was something arch in her manner, something which he was certain would neither suit him in his position as a clergyman nor impress his patroness, whose opinion, after all, was paramount. No, Miss Elizabeth would not do, not when the superior specimen of her sister was readily available.

"And she is very kind-hearted to those whom she cares about," continued Mrs. Bennet, interrupting his thoughts. "The man who marries her will find her to be quite a comfort to him."

"I am certain that my cousin Elizabeth will make an excellent bride," responded Mr. Collins with a dismissive wave of his hand. Why could the woman not focus on Jane? It was almost as though both Bennet parents were plotting against him--it simply would not do. "Her sister Jane, however, I think is most especially agreeable."

"Ah, yes, I own that Jane is the finest local beauty you shall see gracing the assemblies. But I am afraid I must try to dissuade you from considering her as the object of your attention," here she took on a conspiratorial tone, "for you see, Mr. Collins, I regret to inform you that soon Jane will be engaged to Mr. Bingley. We have simply been waiting for him to make the move, and I am quite certain it will happen soon."

But Mr. Collins was not to be dissuaded--nothing less than Miss Jane would do. "I thank you for your kind warning, but as I am to understand that she is not engaged yet, there can be nothing to keep me from pursuing my suit. My situation in life is a most fortunate one, as I am constantly assisted by the guidance of her ladyship, and I know that any wife of mine will find herself in a favorable situation, so I bear no qualms about courting my esteemed cousin."

"Wait, Mr. Collins!" cried Mrs. Bennet. "I really must tell you more about Lizzy."

But Mr. Collins was determined, and Mrs. Bennet discovered that her attempt at dissuasion instead provided a boost in the confidence Mr. Collins felt in regard to his ability to woo young ladies. He went into the drawing-room where his cousins were and immediately placed himself beside Jane, where he remained for some time despite Mrs. Bennet's repeated attempts to extract him from the room. Poor Jane could not protect herself from his advances, as she was incapable of giving offense to any living creature, and her sisters were able to give her only limited aid. Not even Mrs. Bennet's constant allusions to Mr. Bingley could convince Mr. Collins to change his plotted course, so much of the rest of the day was spent in misery for the majority of the occupants of the drawing-room.


	14. Chapter XIV

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback! We're going to now start having a "previously" bit to remind readers of what happened in the previous chapter. If you would prefer not to have it, please let us know.

**Previously:** Mr. Collins informs Mr. Bennet that he wishes to wed Jane. However, Mr. Bennet says that he would never hear of Jane's marrying Collins and that she is likely to marry Mr. Bingley. Mrs. Bennet tries to encourage Mr. Collins to pursue Elizabeth instead, but he remains determined that Jane will be his wife.

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**CHAPTER XIV**

The days after Mr. Collins's arrival at Longbourn seemed to drag on interminably for the Bennet sisters. Beyond the ubiquitous presence of Mr. Collins's fawning and his overly pompous formal speeches, he appeared to have an opinion about every subject and was not overly shy about sharing such opinions. Elizabeth, although women in general were not encouraged to show an interest in education and the broader world in which they dwelt, was far better read than most of the men of her acquaintance, and this was matched with a quick wit and a disposition which delighted in learning. Mr. Collins had not been there an hour before Elizabeth was convinced he must be the stupidest and most obsequious toad in all of England, that his understanding of the most basic events of the world was lacking, and that it would be merely the trouble of a moment to turn his arguments upon themselves and make him look like the idiot he was.

She restrained herself, not only due to the fact that he was a guest in her father's house, but also because she felt an ambivalence toward the man's very existence--in short, the sooner he and his sycophantic flattery were gone, the better she would feel. Of course, Mr. Bennet felt no such compunction, spending his time baiting the young man's stupidity, making him look the fool to those of his daughters with sufficient wit to understand the situation. Of course, to Mr. Collins, none of this was remotely comprehensible, and it was evident to all that he gloried in his pronouncements, which he thought made him appear to be very civil and attentive, and believed himself to be fortunate in his situation in life, which he was not utterly wrong about. The Bennet girls were largely satisfied with his position as well--as long as his position was in no way connected to their own.

Of all the girls, it fell to Jane to suffer the most from his presence. Since he had fixed her as the object of his attention almost as soon as he had entered the house, he became a permanent fixture in her presence--nothing she or anyone else could say could turn him from his pursuit. Indeed, Longbourn had become a den of misery for all concerned, as Mr. Collins's presence was almost ever-present and his loud proclamations could be heard all over the house. When Mrs. Bennet's nerves were added to the generally tense atmosphere of the abode, it was no small wonder that the girls engaged themselves as much as possible in outdoor pursuits, whereas the master and mistress of the house kept to their respective chambers as much as they possibly could.

Elizabeth found herself infuriated over the situation--she knew that her father had conversed with Mr. Collins very soon after he arrived at Longbourn regarding the matter of marriage and that Collins had been angry for a very short time afterward before turning his attentions solely to Jane. Her mother's ineffectual whining and hand-wringing were having no effect on Mr. Collins, and her father would not exert himself beyond the one admonition against the man's suit. Even now, Mr. Bennet appeared to be no more than amused at the young man's persistence in the face of such a set down, not to mention his feelings toward his second daughter's predicament. Although Elizabeth did not for one moment suppose that Mr. Bennet would allow his gentlest daughter to marry the man, she still couldn't bear her sister's unhappiness. And since Jane was completely incapable of offending any creature, it was up to Elizabeth to come to her rescue and invent ways for her to avoid Mr. Collins's attentions.

Several days after the parson's arrival, Elizabeth had almost reached her wit's end. Although all the sisters had assisted Jane in escaping her unwanted suitor (with the exception of Lydia, who remained fixated on the officers and completely insensible of Jane's plight), Elizabeth was uncertain what more she could do to dissuade the young man aside from insulting him to his face. As he was a guest in her father's house and Elizabeth was much too well bred to engage in such a breach of propriety, she began to look for other means of separating her unwanted cousin from the object of his obsession.

As the day was fine and bright with sunshine, Elizabeth proposed a walk among the paths surrounding Longbourn, with the ultimate intention of climbing the side of Oakham Mount and being calmed by the wonderful vistas visible from its peak.

Lydia, caring nothing for such things, declined as was her wont, and Kitty, understanding at least a part of her sister's stratagem, declined as well, stating she would much rather spend her time on the pianoforte than traipsing over the countryside. Jane and Mary, however, agreed with alacrity, and after preparing themselves, they all set out upon their walk.

Of course, it was not a surprise when Mr. Collins declared such a walk to be the very thing he had desired and stated his attention to accompany his fair cousins on their excursion. What Mr. Collins did not realize was that Elizabeth, knowing her cousin was rather heavy and not used to walking, had anticipated his desire. Mr. Collins soon found that his cousins set a far brisker pace than any he would have contemplated, and not many minutes into their walk, he was puffing like a bellows, which effectively put an end to any coherent murmuring he felt the need to inject into the quiet country morning. Of course, this did not stop him from trying, and more than once Elizabeth and Jane had to stifle less than ladylike giggles after his attempts at what he thought were delicate compliments to his cousins, Hertfordshire, and his favorite subject of his patroness, all of which came out to be more ridiculous and insipid when interspersed with the deep breaths he made (which sounded not unlike that of a horse).

Soon, they had reached the lower slopes of their destination and began to climb--Mount Oakham was more of a large hill, but it was the tallest in the area and afforded a splendid view from three sides--the northern aspect being heavily wooded, prevented any viewing in that direction. Mr. Collins, seeing his ordeal was far from over, let out a less than gentlemanly groan but gamely began to climb, although he soon lagged far behind the two eldest sisters. Curiously, it was Mary who stayed behind to escort him, earning herself a questioning look from Elizabeth. At Mary's answering smile and the shrug of her shoulders, Elizabeth and Jane decided to continue on, so eager were they to escape the parson's presence for even a moment. If Mary wished to saddle herself with him, it was none of their concern.

The view from the top was marvelous as always, a great sprawling vista of green fields, verdant woods, and broad horizons. Deeply breathing in the autumn air, Elizabeth and Jane shared a look and smiled at their brief but well-earned freedom.

It was at that moment they realized that they were not alone. In addition to Mary and Mr. Collins, who was still struggling up the side of the hill, a pair of riders had appeared from another direction and were even now dismounting from their mounts and beginning the ascent to the summit. It was only a few seconds later when Elizabeth realized the identity of the newcomers as their new neighbors, and glancing at Jane for a reaction, she was pleased to see her countenance fixed on the approaching men, a slight smile gracing her features. They had not seen their handsome neighbors since the arrival of their unwanted guest, and the opportunity seemed golden to show Mr. Collins the strength of Jane's attachment to Mr. Bingley and dissuade the parson from furthering his hopeless pursuit. At this point, Elizabeth was willing to try anything in the hopes of sparing her favorite sister from the attentions of such an odious man.

"Lizzy," said Jane, "I know what you are thinking."

"Do you?" responded Elizabeth in a teasing manner.

"Do not throw me at Mr. Bingley in order to offend Mr. Collins, Lizzy. I enjoy his company very much indeed, but Mr. Collins may just frighten him off."

Elizabeth let out a laugh at Jane's impertinence, excessively diverted that her sister--her wonderful, angelic sister who never had an uncomplimentary thing to say about any human--could obliquely reference their cousin's disagreeable nature in such a manner.

"Believe me, Jane, I think it would take more than Mr. Collins to scare Mr. Bingley away."

Jane's eyes flashed in warning, but there was nothing further she could say on the subject, as the gentlemen had almost arrived at their position. On the other side, Mr. Collins still struggled, his pace having slowed considerably, and it was apparent he would not reach them for several more minutes, though he had had considerably less distance to traverse than the two gentlemen.

"Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, good day to you!" began Mr. Bingley in his usual ebullient manner, to which the ladies curtseyed in response. "This is a fortunate meeting."

"Indeed, it is, sir," replied Jane. "What brings you so far from Netherfield?"

"Why, having heard so much about the view from this vantage, we determined to see for ourselves the beauties of Hertfordshire. I can assure you, none of what we have been told is lacking."

This last was said in reference to the view, Elizabeth was certain, but Mr. Bingley's eyes were affixed on Jane, causing her to blush most becomingly at his hidden meaning. Elizabeth could not be more pleased in the attention he was showing Jane and the manner in which he was expressing himself. He was all that was good and pleasing, and his affections for her favorite sister appeared to be strengthening with every meeting.

"And you, Mr. Darcy?" said Elizabeth, turning her attention to his friend. Her next words died in her throat as she beheld his eyes fixed upon her person, his expression blank but intense. Her heart fluttered most alarmingly at his open regard of her person, and she wondered at his manner.

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth gathered herself, determined not to let the man discompose her, regardless of his erstwhile criticisms of her person. "It was of no consequence, Mr. Darcy. I merely wished to ascertain your reaction to the scenery of Hertfordshire, though I daresay it does not compare with that of your home?"

"Who among us does not believe his home is most beautiful, Miss Bennet?" said he with a smile. "Indeed, I do love the vistas and wilds of the peak district in Derbyshire, which are but a short distance from my home. I daresay that Hertfordshire is less wild and more tamed than Derbyshire, but it has many beauties of its own. Yes, I find the view extremely pleasing."

Much as his friend had done with Jane, Mr. Darcy did not remove his gaze from Elizabeth during the recital of his statement, the effect of which was pronounced upon her countenance as a rosy blush spread across her features. Seeing this, Darcy seemed to realize he had perhaps said too much, and he turned his head and gazed out over the countryside. The company was silent, although the contrast between the two couples could hardly be more marked. Jane and Bingley had eyes only for each other and seemed to be communicating without words, while Darcy and Elizabeth were studious in their avoidance of one another, both contemplating the nature of their exchange. Fortunately for the peace of mind of both, their companions appeared to have missed the exchanges, so focused on each other were they.

The moment, however, was not destined to last, as soon Mr. Collins, still puffing and wheezing at his exertion, arrived at the top of the hill, the ever-dutiful Mary still by his side. His reaction to the view was muted as he became aware of the newcomers to their party, and he could hardly miss the interaction between the object of his attentions and the handsome young man who stood by her side. Privately, Elizabeth was thrilled at the loss of his effusions, so certain was she that to hear him once again trumpet his approbation for the landscape, Hertfordshire, and her eldest sister would have caused her to throttle him.

Still, the introduction had to be made, and Elizabeth could only hope that witnessing her partiality for Mr. Bingley would cause Mr. Collins to lose some of his ardor. It was a hope in which she indulged but did not expect to see realized, given his willful disregard for every hint which had been made to him by almost every member of Jane's family.

"Mr. Collins," said she, "I see you have finally joined us."

"Yes, Cousin Elizabeth, indeed I have," was the reply as Mr. Collins studied his rival. "I see we have been joined by some acquaintances of yours. Perhaps you would do me the great honor of introducing me to these fine gentlemen."

It was a speech which was almost sensible; it was certainly the most sensible she had ever heard him utter, as it was devoid of the effusions and overly unctuous manner of which his conversation normally consisted. She could only wonder that the occasion of seeing Jane with her suitor would cause him to suddenly find his senses and speak normally, but she could not hope it would last. She did the only thing she could under the circumstances--she introduced him:

"But of course. Mr. Collins, allow me to present Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, our new neighbors. Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley--Mr. Collins is a distant cousin of my father's and is visiting us for a fortnight."

Darcy said nothing, merely gracing his new acquaintance with a slight inclination of his head, while Bingley, in his usual cheerful and animated fashion, responded with his delight in making the acquaintance of his neighbors' cousin.

Unfortunately, it was a delight which the parson could not share, as his only answer was a curt nod of the head and a short:

"Delighted, I'm sure."

Mr. Bingley paused, clearly taken aback by Collins's manner, but as the parson's person was unequal as a lure to his attentions as was Jane, he soon forgot about Collins's incivility and turned back to the obvious object of his affections, engaging her in quiet conversation while the rest of the group was quiet, ostensibly admiring the scenery, but in reality uncertain as to how to proceed.

Unfortunately, the peaceful situation did not last long, and soon Elizabeth's expectations of her cousin's behavior and manners were confirmed. He stood there for some time, watching the young couple in their easy conversation, and Elizabeth could easily see the expression on his face as it moved from displeasure at the young man's attentions to _his_ intended to jealousy at the easy regard in their conversation and her responsiveness to Mr. Bingley's suit, which Mr. Collins had never had the pleasure of receiving. His face continued to darken even as Mary attempted to begin a conversation with him--yet he heard none of it. Just as Elizabeth was searching her brain for some way to distract him and prevent his exposing himself--and by extension, the Bennet sisters--to ridicule, he seemed to start, and his gaze was instantly transferred to the other gentleman, his features overspread with a look of wonder.

"Cousin Elizabeth," applied he, an urgency evident in his manner, "did I hear you correctly when you introduced this other fine gentleman as Mr. Darcy?"

Astonished at the sudden change in his demeanor and at his imprudent speech, Elizabeth could only nod in response, even while Darcy turned and gave him with the barest nod of his head.

"Excuse me, good sir, but is it possible I am in the august presence of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley estate in Derbyshire?"

Suddenly, the full weight of Darcy's implacable gaze rested upon the parson, looking on him as one might look upon a gnat. "Yes, I am he," responded Darcy, his voice quiet yet stern. "You seem to have the advantage of me, Mr. Collins. In what fashion, might I ask, are you acquainted with my person?"

The delight which suffused Mr. Collins's face was only matched by the stupid manner in which he began to bow, which was almost low enough for his knuckles to brush the ground, had they been extended. His obeisance was accompanied by the silliest speech Elizabeth had ever heard the man utter, which was quite an accomplishment considering the fact she had yet to hear two words of any intelligence issue from his mouth during the whole of her acquaintance with him.

"Mr. Darcy, I have never--the honor, sir--that is, I must be allowed to state, my dear sir, that in all my wildest imaginings, in even the most stupendous flights of fancy, I would never have imagined that I would meet such an illustrious personage as yourself in so humble a part of England. I cannot begin to inform you, sir, how much of a pleasure and honor it is to humbly make your acquaintance. To think you would condescend to show my dear cousins the honor of your attentions is quite beyond anything I would have dreamed, excepting of course, the condescension shown by my most noble patroness. Please allow me to say how delighted I am to make the acquaintance of such a preeminent person such as yourself."

By this time, even Bingley and Jane had noticed the monologue and had stopped to stare at the parson, who seemed to be almost caught in the midst of an ecstasy which was not to be described to mere mortals. Elizabeth felt her own cheeks burning at the ridiculously servile mutterings issuing forth from her cousin's mouth, and although she was positive she was the only one who noticed it, the look of utter contempt upon Mr. Darcy's face was plain for any who cared to look at him to see.

"I believe you were about to inform me how you knew me, sir," prompted Darcy in a low voice.

"My dear sir! Of course, I let my delight at finally making your acquaintance overrule my manners. Allow me to introduce myself--my name is William Collins, and I have the very great fortune to enjoy the patronage and condescension of your noble aunt, the honorable Lady Catherine De Bourgh."

"You are Aunt Catherine's new clergyman?"

"Indeed, I am, sir. The garden in which my home, Hunsford, is situated lies very near the entrance to the great estate of Rosings, allowing me the pleasure of demeaning myself before her ladyship in the greatest of humility. You aunt's generous nature and gracious condescension is more than I could ever hope for."

"Mr. Collins, I have visited Rosings--I know where Hunsford is."

"Indeed, I believe you must have, sir," said Mr. Collins, his face betraying his happiness at his good fortune. "And I believe I am fortunate in the ability to inform you that her ladyship and her wonderful daughter were in the best of health but four days ago."

Although he said nothing more, Elizabeth could tell from his demeanor that Mr. Darcy considered the churchman to be absurd and obsequious. For the rest of their time on the mount, while Bingley and Jane talked quietly together and Mary stayed mostly silent by the parson's side, Mr. Collins himself carried on a one-sided dialogue with the young gentleman in which his silly and long-winded pronouncements were answered with nothing more than monosyllabic replies.

Finally, taking pity on the man who had become the focus of all Mr. Collins's parading civilities (the parson was completely ignoring Jane, noted Elizabeth with much amusement), she advised her sisters they had stayed long enough and proposed they begin their journey back to Longbourn. All at once, Mr. Collins seemed to remember his mission of promoting his suit to Jane and began to move toward her, but Bingley, delighted to be of use to his lady, had already proposed that he and Darcy escort them back to Longbourn and had already offered his arm--the parson was thus once again thwarted in his design. Elizabeth noted the glower on his face and wondered at the audacity of the man who could consider himself a better suitor for a gentleman's daughter than the amiable and wealthy Mr. Bingley. It seemed as though there was nothing she could do to interrupt his suit, so determined and focused was he on Jane--Elizabeth, after all, was nothing more than a young woman, and a man of Collins's bloated sense of his own self-worth obviously could not be bothered with the opinions of one he considered his social inferior.

Elizabeth snorted at the thought--she, his social inferior! At the moment, she considered a garden snake to be _his_ superior in all matters of society.

A movement to her side caught Elizabeth's attention, and she turned to see Mr. Darcy offering his arm, his slightly sly smile in the direction of Mr. Collins a clear indication that the situation and the parson's reaction to Bingley and Jane had not escaped his attention. Although still uncertain of her own regard for the gentleman, she shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes while accepting his proffered arm and beginning down the side of the mount. Once again, the long-suffering Mary was left to bring up the rear with the insufferable Mr. Collins.

The walk down the mountain was largely accomplished in silence--at least the last two couples did not have much to talk about. Mary, gamely, tried to interest their cousin in some conversation, but clearly he was still brooding about Jane, and he kept his own council, completely ignoring Mary as often as not. Though Elizabeth was not as close to Mary as she was to some of her other sisters, she still felt a measure of indignation for the man's poor manners and petulant behavior. Of course, Darcy had little to say and seemed to be focused on the couple ahead of them as they carried on a lively and affectionate conversation.

Elizabeth had just begun to wonder if this interminable walk would ever end when suddenly from almost directly overhead there was a flash, followed soon after by the loud rumbling of thunder. Glancing up at the sky, Elizabeth noticed the angry clouds rolling in and wondered that the entire company had been so distracted that they had neglected to notice the onset of inclement weather.

Noticing Jane's worried glance back at her, Elizabeth smiled hesitantly and looked up at her escort, who she noticed was looking down at her with some alarm.

"It appears we have missed the coming weather, Mr. Darcy," she declared, somewhat impudently. "You may wish to escape now--we are quite close to home, and if you are lucky, you may be able to make it back to Netherfield before the storm hits."

"I think, Miss Elizabeth, that I would not be able to call myself a gentleman if I were to allow you and your sisters to return home without an escort. The weather looks to be somewhat wild."

Not particularly surprised at his declaration, Elizabeth thanked him and suggested they pick up the pace. But it was all in vain, as moments after the exchange, the heavens opened up, and the rain began to pour down upon them.

They were immediately drenched, prompting Elizabeth to thank the fates that the weather was still warm, as they would certainly have been chilled otherwise. Mr. Darcy immediately stopped and, removing his coat, settled it around her shoulders, providing her with a measure of protection from the elements, not to mention protecting her modesty--with the amount of rain pouring down, her dress was immediately soaked through, causing her dress to cling to her most improperly.

Elizabeth glanced around, noting Bingley's treatment of Jane mirrored his friends. Looking in the other direction, the situation with Mary and Collins was so different as to be laughable, if the situation were not what it was. Mr. Collins was peering at his two cousins with wide open eyes, a scandalized expression on his stupid face, while at the same time, Elizabeth could read on his face the jealousy he felt that Mr. Bingley was offering assistance to _his_ intended. Elizabeth nearly groaned out loud, knowing this would provide fuel for his long-winded and overly pious pronouncements about the proper comportment of truly virtuous females. It took Mr. Darcy's curt hand motions and calling of his name for Mr. Collins to remember that he too accompanied a young lady who needed some protection from the elements.

After Mr. Collins had finally performed the same duty with Mary, the three couples once again began walking toward Longbourn, traveling much faster than they had before. It was only a few moments before Elizabeth's words were proven true and the manor house came into view. They were immediately ushered into the house for a change of clothes amid Mrs. Bennet's loud wailings of how her daughters would catch their deaths due to being caught out in the storm. Rolling her eyes at her mother's antics, Elizabeth accepted a blanket to cover her modesty and handed Mr. Darcy's jacket to him, murmuring her thanks for his gallantry. His earnest reply that it was his pleasure startled Elizabeth, but before she respond or look to him for clarification, he was gone, leaving her to her thoughts.

Mr. Darcy was indeed an enigma.


	15. Chapter XV

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, as always!

**Previously:** The Bennet sisters take a walk with Mr. Collins and meet Darcy and Bingley along the way.

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**CHAPTER XV**

After the two newcomers to Hertfordshire had been forced to submit to the misfortune of a walk with the fawning Mr. Collins, Elizabeth had begun to wonder if they would ever show their faces at Longbourn again. However, much to Mrs. Bennet's delight and Elizabeth's surprise, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy both came to dine with the Bennet family the very day after the torturous promenade with the Hunsford parson. Even more surprising to Elizabeth was that Georgiana was with the two men. She was uncertain why the girl would have agreed to accompany her brother and Mr. Bingley to Longbourn, but she suspected it might have been related to Georgiana's wanting to keep an eye on Mr. Bingley. The thought displeased Elizabeth, but she was not one to make a scene, so she simply resolved to keep an eye on Georgiana and ensure no attempts were made to sabotage dear Jane's happiness. Mr. Bingley was obviously enthralled with Jane, and Elizabeth wished it to remain that way.

Mrs. Bennet had very carefully planned all the courses for the dinner, determined that the three visitors would not find anything lacking at her table. Her seating arrangement, too, had borne some consideration, though she had not needed to think about the matter at much length before deciding that Jane would be beside Mr. Bingley and that Elizabeth would be next to Mr. Collins. As for Mr. Darcy, she had told an exasperated Elizabeth, he would of course be placed near Kitty! They had looked quite the couple while dancing together, proclaimed Mrs. Bennet, and she thought Kitty could do very well in marrying a man with ten thousand a year. Though the Bennet matron believed the sum would have been quite right for her Lydia, she did not wish to subject her favorite daughter to Mr. Darcy's dourness; instead, she thought Kitty would be better suited to counter the man's unpleasant nature.

As for Georgiana, Mrs. Bennet placed her next to her brother and away from Mr. Bingley. Upon learning of this seating arrangement, the lines around Georgiana's eyes tightened, but she said nothing.

Unlike Mr. Darcy's sister, Jane and Mr. Bingley felt their placement at the table to be a fortunate one, and they soon found themselves engaged in pleasant conversation.

"I have found the society in Hertfordshire to be quite delightful," proclaimed Bingley with the warmth that was characteristic of his person.

Jane lowered her head, her cheeks flushed. "I am glad to hear that, Mr. Bingley. We have been pleased to have you with us."

Mr. Collins, though he was several seats down from Jane and Bingley, was listening closely to this conversation. He was unusually quiet, but Elizabeth took his demeanor to indicate he was sulking over the dinner's seating arrangements. Though she much preferred this side of the parson to the one which gave lavish details over the furnishings of a building she had never seen, she did not want him to threaten to spoil Jane's good time, so she attempted to draw him into conversation on the very subject which he seemed to enjoy so much.

"I was wondering if you could tell me again of the many splendors of Rosings, Mr. Collins. And please do not stint when describing the fineness and number of windows that great building contains."

But for once Mr. Collins was not to be distracted by the opportunity to regale her with tales of his patroness. He merely told her the number curtly and then fell back into his brooding silence.

She attempted one more time to engage his attentions in something other than the discussion taking place between Jane and Bingley, but she met with no success. Holding back a sigh, she let her eyes wander around the table, only to find Mr. Darcy, who was seated diagonally across from her, staring at her with his dark, intense eyes.

She stared back at him for a few seconds--reminded of how he had given her a similar look on their walk the day before--before coloring and turning her attention to her plate.

Kitty, of course, was unable to see the gaze which passed between her sister and Mr. Darcy, and she inquired of the gentleman: "Are you doing well this evening, Mr. Darcy?"

He responded in a pleasant tone that he was, and he inquired as to her well being.

As her sister and Mr. Darcy began to converse, Elizabeth turned her eyes to Georgiana. The young lady was staring at Mr. Bingley and Jane, who were oblivious to the world. It could be no more obvious to Elizabeth that Georgiana was displeased with the place setting if Georgiana had shouted it out loud. But she was far enough away from the two that Elizabeth knew she could do no harm during the supper hour--at least nothing which would still maintain propriety, a breach Elizabeth was certain would draw the censure of her brother.

With a sigh, Elizabeth turned her attention back to Mr. Collins. Mary, who was on the parson's other side, had begun talking to him about a religious text of which she had heard him say he was fond, but she appeared to be having no more success in drawing the loquacious man into conversation than Elizabeth had. She gazed at Mary for a few seconds, wondering at her sister's constant attention to the intractable parson--surely Mary found him as odious and tiresome as the rest of the family. And yet she continued to try to gain his attention. Elizabeth did not know what was going through her sister's mind, but she was silently grateful for Mary's efforts to spare Jane of his company.

The dinner was continuing in this vein when there was a lull in the conversation between Mr. Darcy and Kitty. Mr. Collins took the opportunity to speak up loudly: "Mr. Darcy, I dare say her ladyship would be proud of what a fine young woman your sister has become."

"It has not been long since we were last in the company of my aunt," said Darcy stiffly, "but yes, she was pleased with Georgiana."

Georgiana herself turned to give the parson a dour look, and the words he was about to speak failed to come out.

At that, Elizabeth could not help but be amused. Mrs. Bennet, who was completely unable to be silent for any length of time, exclaimed loudly for all to hear, "Ah! It seems cook has outdone herself!"

"Your directions to her were so precise and detailed," said Mr. Bennet in a soft dry voice which nonetheless carried from one end of the table to the next, "that I should be surprised if she _hadn't_ prepared the meal to your tastes. I consider it one of the great mysteries of life that our cook _always_ seems to outdo herself on occasions such as this."

Mrs. Bennet continued as if her husband hadn't spoken. "Cook has always shown a skillful hand in the kitchen. I have never met a cook as talented as ours. I dare say the royal family does not dine so nicely as we! Her meals are simply amazing!"

Beneath his breath, Mr. Bennet commented: "As is your ability to continue to speak without drawing breath."

Elizabeth flushed. As if the ridiculousness of Mr. Collins was not enough, the familial discord between her parents was bound to leave their guests far less than impressed. Georgiana was alternately hstaring at Mr. and Mrs. Bennet with a displeased expression, and Mr. Darcy's own face was an unreadable blank which could not bode well. At least Mr. Bingley did not appear to have been distracted from his attentions to Jane; they were still discussing some of their favorite vistas, heedless of the world around them.

The rest of dinner was a mixed affair, with Mrs. Bennet making a fool out of herself, Mr. Bennet trying to keep her line with sharp comments, and Mr. Collins switching between sulking about his place setting, fawning over the Darcys, and making attempts to engage Jane in conversation.

When the dinner was finally over, Elizabeth finally felt a sense of relief. Unfortunately, she was not given a true respite; the men, rather than remaining while the women withdrew to the drawing room, decided to leave directly with the ladies. Mr. Collins and Mr. Bingley were obviously the leaders of this movement, both being desirous of more time with Jane, and Elizabeth could read nothing on Mr. Darcy's face. Georgiana, however, did seem relieved, and she was probably the reason why Mr. Darcy did not seem inclined to pass time drinking and smoking before joining the ladies.

In the drawing room, Mr. Collins and Mr. Bingley both sought to be next to Jane, as did Elizabeth, who wanted to protect her sister from the former man. Mr. Collins immediately began speaking to the poor Jane, who was barely able to get a word in edgewise. Elizabeth, though she tried several times to draw Mr. Collins away, had no more success.

A sudden flurry of movement caught Elizabeth's attention, and she turned to see Lydia dancing with a ribbon in her hand around Kitty. "Give it back!" said Kitty, who sounded more amused than upset.

"Only if you sing me a song, Kitty!" exclaimed Lydia.

Kitty lifted her cane and held it out, obviously trying to make Lydia run into it, but the younger girl saw what she was doing and ceased dancing.

Lydia insisted: "All I want is a song!"

Elizabeth turned to her father, giving a pleading look for him to check his exuberant daughter. He appeared humored by the young girls' display, but he saw his eldest daughter gazing at him, and he gave a nod of understanding. "Girls," said he in a voice loud enough to be heard by the entire company, "that is enough."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to close her eyes. Her cheeks were burning. Her gaze moved to rest on Georgiana, whose distaste for the entire company was plain as day. Elizabeth could guess what was causing the girl's displeasure: Kitty and Lydia's lack of decorum, Mrs. Bennet's flightiness, and Mr. Collins's ridiculous behavior.

The situation certainly did not get any better after that. Georgiana's snobbery simply increased, and she slighted any of the Bennets who tried to talk to her. When Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy to see what he thought of his sister's behavior, she found him staring at her. Flushing, she realized he was not appearing to notice his sister's behavior. Unfortunately, Georgiana was growing more dour by the minute, and then, when Elizabeth was certain it could not get worse, it did.

"Mr. Darcy," said Mr. Collins so loudly it was almost a bellow, "you must be very pleased indeed with the helpful and condescending nature of your aunt and my most esteemed patroness." Here, he gave an odd sort of bow. "Her every sentence is filled with grandeur, and the kindnesses she bestows on those beneath her are so selfless that I might venture so far as to call her an angel, a gift of God's to an earth which tends to lack the shine given off by such a gem as her ladyship." At this point, the eyes of everyone in the room were on him, and he moved closer to Mr. Darcy and spoke in tones which, while softer, were nonetheless audible to the other inhabitants of the room. "It is such a shame that her daughter is sickly and has not inherited her Ladyship's many fine qualities. I am certain that must grieve you very much."

The fury on Mr. Darcy's face was so great as to be almost tangible. For Mr. Collins to have insulted his cousin in such a way, was a faux pas so great not even Elizabeth would have believed the parson capable of it. However, one mark of a gentleman was to turn away in silence when another man was impertinent or ridiculous, and that was what Mr. Darcy did. Mr. Collins looked at the back of his social and mental superior for a few moments before returning to walk toward Jane, utterly oblivious to what had just happened.

At last, the Bennets' guests were ready to leave. Elizabeth thought she was going to die of shame, and her heart ached for Jane, who was certain to have lost the most by their relations' display.

But then, the inconceivable happened. Mr. Bingley issued a return invite for November 7th. After what had happened, he would certainly have been justified in only asking them to tea, but he actually asked them to dine at Netherfield. Elizabeth turned to Jane, whose face was shining with pleasure, and it was all she could do to refrain herself from hugging her. It appeared that Mr. Bingley had either ignored the many improprieties of her family or had completely missed them in his attention to Jane. Elizabeth could not be more grateful for the blindness of a man in love.


	16. Chapter XVI

**A/N:** Thanks again for the readers and reviewers.

**Previously: **Dinner party at Longbourn. Mr. Collins makes a fool out of himself by fawning all over Georgiana and Darcy, in between anger at not being seated next to Jane.

**CHAPTER XVI**

If the Bennet sisters thought that life with Mr. Collins living in the house was insupportable before the dinner party, they soon learned they had not even scratched the surface of the man's ability to annoy and frustrate his hosts.

It seemed the gauntlet had been dropped. Witnessing the felicity and confidence which subsisted between Bingley and Jane appeared to spur Mr. Collins on to even greater lengths to earn Jane's favor and, consequently, her hand. Not even Jane's pointed disfavor (his badgering had gotten to the point where it strained even her gentle and inoffensive disposition) would deter him from his goal. His sights were set upon securing Jane Bennet as a wife, and he would not be deterred. It appeared there was little doubt in his mind of his ultimate success.

Jane's sisters gave her as much respite from his attentions as they were able—or at least, those of Jane's sisters who recognized and were sympathetic to her plight. Lydia, feeling fortunate that his attentions were not directed at her, was determined to leave well enough alone, and she chose instead to concentrate her attentions upon several of the young officers of the regiment who had caught her fancy. But Elizabeth, Mary, and Kitty did as much as they could to discourage his suit, accompanying Jane wherever she went to ensure she was never in a position to be imposed upon by the overly amorous cleric.

Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were of no help whatsoever. When Mr. Collins had made clear that he was undeterred by the evidence of Jane's preference for Bingley, Mrs. Bennet, in a fit of nerves, retired to her room and refused to budge, bemoaning the existence of fate, entails, and willfully obtuse parsons. And although Elizabeth had brought Mr. Collins's behavior to her father's attention (if indeed he could possibly have missed it himself), he had refused to do anything about the situation, citing the conversation he had had with the pompous parson the day after his arrival. However, Mr. Bennet assured his eldest daughter that regardless of Mr. Collins' attentions to Jane, he would in no way give his consent to the match without Jane's express permission, something, he observed wryly, which had less chance of occurring than he had of ascending the throne. Elizabeth was not exactly happy with his response and his refusal to exert himself, and she was not as confident as her father in Jane's ability to refuse the obstinate man. Knowing Jane as she did—and understanding her unwillingness to hurt a single soul—Elizabeth was concerned Jane would be unable to say no, resulting in the man assuming her consent or, heaven forbid, her actually giving her consent contrary to her feelings.

Thus, Elizabeth had taken to acting as Jane's shadow—wherever Jane went, she went. If an outing was planned, Elizabeth was right by her sister's side. When the attentions of the parson became too much for Jane to bear, Elizabeth was there to urge her sister to rest in her room, often accompanying her to escape herself. She knew Jane was grateful for her attention and care, and although her sister was far too well bred and polite to ever voice such an opinion, Elizabeth suspected she considered Mr. Collins to be a rank dullard.

As for Mr. Collins, though he was obviously as dense as the day was long, Elizabeth knew that her constant presence had even begun to penetrate the fog of his consciousness when—after almost two full days of Elizabeth following Jane's every movement—he finally began staring at her with suspicion in his eyes. Elizabeth surreptitiously watched him as he puzzled through her behavior, until suddenly, a light seemed to go on in the dimness of his mind, and he directed a smarmy smile at her which caused her to shudder in disgust. It was not long after that when he directed some comments to her commending her for her piousness and interest in wedding a priest while informing her sadly that he had chosen her sister and that his affections were already engaged. He next promised that if Elizabeth had her heart set on a member of the clergy, then he would be happy to introduce her to other clerics of his acquaintance. Trust Mr. Collins to add two and two and come up with five! Elizabeth did not know whether to laugh, cry, or simply bludgeon him to death with one of her father's books.

But there was one thing of which Elizabeth was certain—the tension was building up in the house, and she suspected the only way it would be alleviated was for Collins to finally come to the point and declare himself to his disinterested paramour, thereby allowing Elizabeth to step in and disabuse him of the assumptions he had so zealously cultivated. Although she normally would not have thought a young man would declare himself so soon after making the acquaintance of a lady, Elizabeth also knew that Collins had been commanded by his patroness to find a wife—and that he had little time away from her in which to accomplish her instructions. All of this pointed to his needing to either make a proposal some time within the next few days or risk returning to Kent in failure, a circumstance she knew would not endear him to the domineering woman. In fact, the events of the week had frayed Elizabeth's nerves to the point that she began wishing for him to finally propose, just so they could all quit playing the foolish game.

And sure enough, the morning of the third day, Elizabeth's suspicions came true. The family had just finished breakfast—Mrs. Bennet still refused to leave her room, and Mr. Bennet was hiding as much as possible in his bookroom—and the five sisters with their unwelcome house guest had retired to the front parlor to while away the hours of the morning. Elizabeth and Mary had bracketed Jane on the sofa as a protection against her suitor, each taking up needlework. Kitty sat down at the pianoforte and began to play, and Lydia sat down at the table to trim another in an endless succession of her collection of bonnets. Mr. Collins, although he looked as though he had something to say, took up his copy of Fordyce's sermons and settled in, proceeding to fail to turn a single page for the next ten minutes while alternating between staring at Jane and frowning at the sisters situated on both sides of her. They had each settled into their various occupations when Mr. Collins abruptly closed his book with a loud "slap," sat forward on his chair, and addressed them:

"My dear cousins, although the scene before me is pleasing in its domesticity—indeed, you are all to be commended for your piety and adherence to the proper comportment of elegant females everywhere, as expounded upon by our dear Fordyce—I feel I must interrupt your felicity for a matter of utmost delicacy and importance. If it pleases you, I request a moment of Cousin Jane's time—in private." This last was said with a smile at the doubtlessly nauseated recipient of his affections. He undoubtedly thought his expression was affectionate and charming, yet it came off as oily and superficial.

Peering at her cousin in stony silence, Elizabeth quickly came to the conclusion that it was best to oblige him and end the ordeal as quickly as may be. Besides, un-Christian though it might have been, Elizabeth was looking forward to bursting his pompous bubble and putting the odious man in his place.

"Mary, Kitty, Lydia, I believe Mamma may use your assistance in the stillroom preparing the last of the summer's blossoms."

The three named girls obediently stood to take their leave. Lydia, for once sensing that significant events were in the offing, led an obviously curious and amused Kitty (if the stifled snickers were any indication) from the room, while Mary brought up the rear, clearly reluctant to leave. Mary's behavior became even more curious, however, as Elizabeth caught a glimpse of her turning to press her ear against the door before it had even completely closed.

"Ah, Cousin Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said with a condescending smile, "I believe you misunderstood me—I wish to speak with Cousin Jane alone. I would be your most humble servant if you could spare her for but five minutes, after which I am certain we will have a most joyous announcement."

Mr. Collins smiled salaciously at Jane, who, unless Elizabeth missed her guess, was beginning to wish she had eaten sparingly at breakfast, as the parson's words were clearly turning her stomach. Elizabeth nearly ground her teeth in frustration, wondering at the man's continued ability to ignore the signs so clearly visible right in front of his face.

"I would prefer that my sister remain," said Jane, her voice almost inaudible.

"Mr. Collins, I am keenly aware of your request and sensible of your desires and your design here today," interrupted Elizabeth before Collins could gainsay Jane's words. "Jane and I are closer than normal sisters. Indeed, as twins, we share _everything_ with one another, both in our actions, our affections, and our confidences with one another. I assure you, Mr. Collins, that anything which may be said to Jane may be said in front of me, as I shall surely know of it immediately in any case."

But Mr. Collins was not to be put off. "Really, cousin, although you may share everything with your sister, there are some things which cannot possibly be shared. I have no intentions of going against the laws of God by paying my addresses to _two_ young ladies, and I have already declared to you my attachment to your sister. Therefore, there is no possible reason for you to be obstinate—all I require is a few moments of dear Jane's time, after which she will be at your complete disposal."

By this time, Elizabeth was almost ready to search for something to throw at him. "And _I_ assure you, _cousin_, that I have no intention of quitting the room and leaving my _sister _defenseless. Say what you will, or have done."

Mr. Collins blinked, and his mouth worked in silence as he failed to find the words to respond to such a statement. He appeared not unlike a beached fish with his mouth waving in the stillness of the parlor air, and although the part of Elizabeth which was amused by his antics wanted to laugh out loud at his ridiculousness, she had no wish to offend him in any overt manner—she merely wished to convince him that his suit was hopeless and to bring back a measure of peace to her home. For her, that would be enough.

At length, he seemed to gather himself (she swore she could almost hear the gears in his head screech in protest), and after a few moments of his mopping his brow and muttering to himself, he evidently decided it was best to ignore Elizabeth's presence altogether, and he began to address Jane in his flowery manner:

"Dearest Jane, I am certain you cannot have misconstrued my marked attentions and delicate compliments this past week. As my letter to your amiable parents stated, I have come to Longbourn with the express interest of finding my life's companion. I am perfectly sensible," (Elizabeth nearly snorted in derision at his referring to himself as "sensible"), "of being the means of ultimately causing hardship to you and your beloved sisters after your father departs from this life. As this situation was caused by none of us, yet you and your sisters were to be the injured parties, I determined the best way to make amends was to choose a bride from amongst your father's progeny, thereby protecting the interests of any unmarried sisters left behind."

Jane appeared to be listening intently to the pompous man, but Elizabeth, impatient as she was to get him to the point, interrupted his long-winded speech, her resolution of causing him as little offense as possible forgotten in the wake of his absurdity. "Mr. Collins, do you have anything of substance to say? If you have something to ask of Jane, then please spare us the platitudes and come to the point."

This time, the parson's answering glare was unmistakable and pointed, yet he decided once again to ignore Elizabeth and concentrate on Jane.

"I may say, Cousin Jane, that immediately upon entering the house, I was caught by the sight of your loveliness and entranced by your perfect manners and feminine allure. I soon found myself as violently in love with you as a man may be."

By this time, Jane was blushing fiercely, and Elizabeth, although she would dearly have loved to interrupt him again, merely rolled her eyes and determined that the quickest way to end the ordeal was to allow the pastor to come to the point on his own, even though that seemed unlikely to happen.

"I flatter myself, my dear cousin, in my belief that I am perfectly suited to being your husband, and I daresay that the Lady Catherine de Bourgh will find no fault in you by way of beauty or temperament and will heartily agree with my choice of bride. I believe you are eminently suitable for the position of a parson's wife and the future mistress of this estate, and I hope you will appreciate the comfortable yet modest means of the parsonage which is to be your home while looking forward to the elevation to the wife of a landed gentleman when the position becomes open. You will, of course, benefit in the meantime from the condescension of my most distinguished patroness until that blessed event which, although we should hope it is far in the future, may in fact be closer than you fear due to your father's poor health.

"Now, I must assure you of my complete devotion and the purity of my affections toward you and ask you in all humility—dearest Jane, will you do me the great honor of accepting my hand and becoming my wife?"

As much as Elizabeth was tempted to rail at her cousin for the manner in which he had willfully ignored every suggestion that Jane was _not_ interested in him, she felt that Jane, to whom the proposal had been directed, deserved the first right of refusal. And, to be perfectly honest, she had to admit a modicum of curiosity as to how Jane would deal with him—surely she could not be so kind-hearted as to accept the proposal for fear of hurting his feelings. At least, Elizabeth hoped that was the case.

A rather disconcerted Jane paused for several moments, her eyes darting in every direction other than Mr. Collins before she finally passed a hand over her eyes in weariness and began to respond, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Mr. Collins—I am… thankful for your graciously bestowed favor and… generous offer…"

The parson bowed in response, his face suffused with the most unctuous smile Elizabeth had ever seen in her life, while he primped and preened in his exaggerated self-importance.

"But, I believe I must… at risk of offending you, my response must be…"

Clearly, Jane was having difficulties coming up with the words which would, in her own mind, hurt the parson. (Privately, Elizabeth felt no such concern—it was clear to her that Mr. Collins' attachment was imaginary and fleeting and only fueled by her beauty, his need to find a wife quickly, and his small-minded pomposity.)

"Please, dear Jane," interrupted he in his oily voice, "you need not expound upon how thankful you are or how overwhelmed you feel by my generous offer. I can see it in your eyes, in your manner of speaking—I believe you and I will do very well together."

"I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but I cannot accept your offer!"

The words were dropped onto the parson's head like a bucket of cold water—apparently, Jane, seeing he had taken her hesitance as an acceptance of his suit, was finally spurred into making her refusal. Elizabeth watched Mr. Collins carefully, taking in his sudden, wordless shock; his slightly moving mouth, out of which no sound was forming; and the slight shaking of his head in denial. However, this reaction was only momentary, as after a few moments, his expression of shock morphed into an unctuous, unpleasant leer.

"My dear cousin, there is no need to pretend or retreat into your feminine delicacy—I fully understand that it is common practice to reject at first a man's proposal, but I believe you and I, being family and having become intimately acquainted this past week, are beyond such coquetry. Please give me your assent immediately so we can share the happy news of our betrothal with your excellent parents and all your sisters."

"Mr. Collins, I am not being coquettish!" cried Jane with a squeak of dismay. "I am not in love with with you and can in no way see you as my husband—I was perfectly serious in my refusal!"

Mr. Collins shook his head in denial. "My dear Jane, as beautiful as you undoubtedly are, given your situation in life and lack of dowry, there can be no surety of your ever receiving another proposal of marriage. You must see this. Why do you continue to test my patience and affection for you?"

Jane colored and dropped her gaze down to her lap, in which her hands were clasped. Hesitantly, she began: "Mr. Bingley—"

"Mr. Bingley may never make you an offer, while mine is before you," interrupted the parson testily. "I urge you not to try my patience any further, my dearest Jane."

"Mr. Collins!" cried Elizabeth in what was practically a shriek.

If the situation had not been so utterly infuriating, Elizabeth would have found his reaction amusing. His eyes widened, and he stumbled back. His legs met the sofa, and he sat down heavily, still looking at Elizabeth with shock and consternation.

"Are you completely without sense, cousin? Jane has already declined your proposal _twice_, yet in your arrogance and stubborn refusal to see what has been unmistakable since you stepped foot in this house, you cling to your hope like a dog to his bone. Jane has become _very_ attached to Mr. Bingley, and I believe him to be equally affectionate toward her. Please take your insincere flattery and bestow it upon a recipient more willing. And leave my sister alone!"

"Cousin Elizabeth, how dare you talk to me that way!" cried Mr. Collins, rising to his feet. "My business with Jane is no concern of yours—I demand you leave this room immediately and cease to insert yourself in affairs which are wholly unconnected to you!"

"I shall do no such thing! Jane is my dearest sister, and as a result, events such as this are _my_ concern. You have willfully ignored every indication of Jane's regard for another and pressed your suit in the most reprehensible manner—and yet you continue thus, though she has already told you two times of her disinterest. When shall you be convinced?"

"My young cousin," countered he stiffly, "I am afraid you are simply too young to understand such things. I am confident that when your parents confer their blessing upon our union—"

"Those same parents who attempted to dissuade you of this disastrous course?" interrupted Elizabeth in a quiet voice. "My mother who warned you Jane was partial to Bingley? Or perhaps my father who warned you that Jane would not be forced into an unwanted engagement? Are these the people of whom you speak?"

Once again Mr. Collins was speechless, and Elizabeth was struck by the random thought that his normally unsightly countenance was rendered even more uncommonly unattractive when his stupidity shone forth.

"But… but…" stammered he.

"Mr. Collins, I do not wish to give you offense," said Jane, finding her courage. "But I simply feel no partiality toward you. I shall not enter into the marriage state with so unequal an affection subsisting between myself and my husband. I am sorry."

"There, Mr. Collins—I believe you have your answer."

Though she was disgusted with his behavior and found him all the more repulsive because of it, Elizabeth could not help feel a stab of pity for the odious man. He was, after all, a relation, however distant, and now that she was certain they had finally penetrated his understanding, there was no further reason for her to feel upset with him—other than his continued odious presence, of course.

"I apologize for my words earlier, Mr. Collins. My sister and I have no wish to see you humiliated, but you need to understand the situation and redirect your energies toward wooing some other more interested young woman. Please do not take offense."

Confident her point had been made, Elizabeth extended a hand to her sister. "Come, Jane—I believe Mr. Collins requires some time to himself to consider his options."

Helping Jane to her feet, Elizabeth and her sister quit the room. Before the door shut behind them, Elizabeth chanced a glance back into the room, witnessing a confused and dejected Mr. Collins sinking heavily into the sofa. She was almost able to feel sorry for him. Fortunately, that pity did not extend to seeing him wed to her favorite sister.


	17. Chapter XVII

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Mr. Collins pursues Jane doggedly, and he finally proposes to her. He is refused. He initially believes the refusal to be "coquetry," but Elizabeth puts him in his place, telling him to leave Jane alone.

* * *

**CHAPTER XVII**

The rest of that day should have been tense-Elizabeth _expected _it to be tense. A man of considerably more than Mr. Collins's mean understanding would have responded to such a rejection with a sense of injured dignity, censuring those who had wounded his pride and witnessed his downfall, and she expected no less from the hapless cleric. This was almost certain to have been made even worse by the manner in which the rejection had been accomplished-Elizabeth knew her role in the matter was hardly a common occurrence and could be considered, if strictly interpreted, as highly improper.

That was not to say that Elizabeth regretted the role she had played-on the contrary, she would do anything to spare her delicate and sensitive sister the indignity of being married to such a buffoon as William Collins. But she would have preferred that Mr. Collins had been persuaded against such a design as to show a preference for Jane. After all, the man _would_ be the next master of Longbourn, and as such, if the worst were to occur, she and her sisters would be entirely dependent on his generosity. The mere thought of being dependent on Mr. Collins for _anything_ was enough to make Elizabeth feel nauseated, but there it was.

But the hostile and tense atmosphere which Elizabeth had expected to descend upon the home did not materialize, for Mr. Collins, rather than rail at the failure of his suit, appeared more confused than upset or angry. During the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon, he wandered about the house and the gardens, alternately talking to himself-presumably going over his actions, perhaps trying to determine where he had gone wrong-and gazing about him with a stunned expression plastered on his face. It was clear that he had never even considered the possibility his proposal might be rejected, although in doing so, he had shown a blindness far from the common sort. And if Elizabeth had thought his stupidity unattractive, the expression of disbelief and lack of understanding made him appear to be positively medieval-in short, she could not imagine a man who was less desirable and attractive than Mr. Collins was showing himself to be at that time.

Jane was kept away from him as much as possible. When he was in the parlor cogitating over his failure, Elizabeth had escorted her sister out to the grounds for a little fresh air, and when Mr. Collins had made his way to the garden, Jane was quickly ushered into the house and encouraged to remain in her room, where Elizabeth comforted her as much as she possibly could. Indeed, it had taken little to persuade Jane that this truly was the best course. She even took her lunch in her own room, so as to further limit her contact with the parson.

Of course, Mrs. Bennet, when informed of the events of the morning, had been overcome with further flutterings and protestations of faintness and had called for her salts several times. The explanation that all was well, that the proposal had been refused, had not even comforted her over much, as she was still upset that it had even taken place. She had her heart set on a rich man for Jane, and to have it so nearly snatched away from her grasp, even if it was by the next master of Longbourn, was enough to send her into paroxysms of grief.

Mr. Bennet had merely shaken his head, indulged in a hearty laugh, and waved his elder daughter from the room, once again engrossed in a book's pages before Elizabeth had even closed the door behind her.

Strangely enough, it was Mary who continued in her efforts to distract the confused parson, walking with him, listening to his confused mutterings, trying to move him from his obvious unhappiness. It was curious behavior to be certain, and try as she might, Elizabeth could not account for it-what could Mary mean by it? Could she possibly enjoy the parson's company, where her sisters could not abide it? Was it all tied in to her behavior throughout that entire week? She had accompanied him during their walk, interrupted him many times during his long and drawn out soliloquies to Jane, offered to read the Bible and other religious texts with him, and generally behaved more politely to him than anyone else in the family was able. Was she merely trying to spare Jane his attention or help him overcome his disappointment, or was there something more to it?

It was early that same afternoon when the unthinkable happened.

Jane was still keeping to her room, this time with Kitty to keep her company. Lydia had flounced off sometime earlier to walk the grounds, upset that none of her sisters would consent to a walk into Meryton to see the officers. This left Elizabeth and Mary to sit in the parlor with a still-distracted Mr. Collins. Elizabeth was doing her best to ignore the man and had taken up a book and tried to engross herself in its pages. Yet her mind kept returning to the flustered parson and the behavior of her sister, which she still could not explain. Though the book was open in front of her and she turned a page every so often to give the appearance of her attention upon it, in reality her focus was fixed upon the other two occupants of the room. It was almost as though Mary was leading Mr. Collins through a complex dance to which only she knew the steps, and it was confusing the parson even further.

She had successfully turned his attention from his failure to some religious subjects, to which he had at first payed scant attention. As Mary's efforts continued, though, he warmed to the topic and soon was discussing the subject with her as though nothing momentous had happened that morning. And as Elizabeth found the subject matter dull in the extreme, she concentrated on the interaction between the two, not on the material about which they conferred. Only snippets here and there floated up into her consciousness.

"According to Fordyce, a woman should..."

"Yes, of course. And in another passage he states clearly that..."

"But what of..."

It was not until sometime later when something her sister said fully brought Elizabeth's attention into the conversation.

"But Mr. Collins, surely your patroness desires you to secure a wife who is devoted to the type of behavior and delicacy espoused by our dear Fordyce. Is this not true?"

Mr. Collins paused for a moment, deep in thought. "I do not know if Lady Catherine has ever read the works of blessed Fordyce. But her ladyship is of such moral character and splendid uprightness that I am certain you are correct. I am of the opinion that the proper comportment is inherent in young ladies, and although it can be learned by constant study and careful attentiveness, in the most righteous and moral of young women, it is naturally born."

Mary smiled. "I am certain you are correct, Mr. Collins."

"Then why was I thus refused?" Mr. Collins eyes flickered to Elizabeth and seemed to pierce her like daggers, although she feigned obliviousness. "Your sister Jane, with her loveliness and comportment, must be of the most elegant and proper females-I am certain I have never seen her display anything other than the most seemly manners and good breeding, and yet she dismissed me without a by-your-leave. She is all that is good, unlike..."

Elizabeth almost laughed at his reference to her rather than being offended by his displeasure. She was curious as to how Mary would respond.

"Mr. Collins, it is by no means a deficiency in you that Jane could not accept your offer."

Elizabeth had to hide a sudden laugh by coughing delicately into her hand. It was _most certainly_ a deficiency (or several) in her cousin which had prompted Jane to refuse his offer. His entire person was odious and disagreeable, and Elizabeth could not imagine wishing him upon her worst enemy!

"Your timing was simply wrong," continued Mary.

With a furrowed brow, Collins peered at the young woman, trying to decipher her meaning. "Do you mean to tell me I proposed too soon?"

"No, indeed, Mr. Collins. I mean, you arrived in Hertfordshire too late. By the time you arrived, Jane was already attached to Mr. Bingley and he to her-unfortunately, to win her affections when they were already engaged with another is an impossible task. You must understand that Jane is very proper, and for her to withdraw her affections from one to whom she had already given them is not a facet of her character. Simply put, once her affections were engaged, there was no possibility of anyone else winning them. It would be unseemly."

"Ah, so if I had extended my olive branch even a month or two in advance, I would have arrived here before Mr. Bingley and thus been able to secure her before his arrival."

"I am certain that is the case," said Mary, without even a hint of deception upon her face.

Mr. Collins sighed, a great exaggerated expression of regret which Elizabeth determined must be false. "In that case, I can only mourn my tardiness in seeking a reconciliation with your excellent family. But what of your _other_ sister?"

It was obvious to whom Mr. Collins referred, but once again, Elizabeth affected an interest in her book by turning a page.

"They are very close, Mr. Collins," Mary responded in a softer tone of voice, "as close as sisters may be. Elizabeth, being the eldest, looks after all of us and takes a prodigious amount of care of us all, almost acting as a second mother when required. But the bond between them as twins is profound. Elizabeth knew of her sister's preference for Mr. Bingley and did as any good sister would have done-she protected Jane to the best of her ability."

The answering grunt from Mr. Collins was noncommittal.

"Indeed, you must believe me, sir," Mary pleaded. "Elizabeth is the very best of sisters, and although she does not study texts such as our beloved Fordyce's assiduously as I do, I truly believe she is one who has proper manners and morality engraved upon her soul. It was concern for Jane which made Elizabeth act so far from her character as she did this morning. I truly believe she would have done as much or more for any of the rest of us."

"Of course," conceded Collins with a slightly injured tone. Then his expression fell, and he slumped forward on the sofa, holding his head in his hands. "But what am I to do? Lady Catherine was most explicit in her instructions-I cannot return to Kent without a betrothed. Lady Catherine would be so very upset with me if I were to do so."

It was at that moment that the door to the parlor opened and a maid poked her head into the room. "Miss Elizabeth, the housekeeper wishes to have a word with you."

"Thank you, Sophie, I shall be along directly."

Sophie curtseyed and turned to leave the room. Elizabeth closed her book and set it down on the side table before standing and looking at her sister, a slightly questioning expression on her face. The way the conversation was going, Elizabeth was beginning to entertain a suspicion as to where it was leading, and she was not certain she liked it in the least.

Mary merely waved her hand at her sister distractedly. "Do not worry about me, Lizzy. Leave the parlor door ajar-that shall be enough for the demands of propriety."

Although she felt she controlled her reaction admirably, inside, Elizabeth was amazed that her sister-Mary, who continually harped upon the proper comportment for young ladies, who was not shy about sharing her views about how the loss of virtue in a female was irreversible-would dismiss her from the room summarily, allowing herself to be alone with a man. Her suspicions now aroused, Elizabeth was not about to quit their company without knowing what her sister was about.

"Of course," said she. "I will return directly."

Elizabeth was not one to eavesdrop on a private conversation. Yet, just as with her previous experience with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, she found that she could not turn away from what was about to happen next. Besides, while overhearing Mr. Darcy's words had been somewhat of an accident, this situation concerned a sister, and as such, she was not about to forget it-not when Mary had been making her position known to the parson in a most direct and blatant way. Of course, this was very much in character for Mary, and to clue Mr. Collins in to something required directness.

Therefore, as Elizabeth quit the room, she left the door halfway open as promised, but rather than retreating to the kitchen to speak with Mrs. Hill, she instead settled in behind the door slightly down the hallway and listened with growing astonishment to the conversation between Mr. Collins and her sister.

"But surely, Mr. Collins, all is not lost. After all, you arrived here with the design of marrying one of my father's daughters, is that not correct?"

"Yes, that is so."

"Then you must realize there are other options available to you. After all, though it is generally allowed that Jane is the most beautiful of my father's children, she is not the _only_ one."

The image of grinding gears once again filled Elizabeth's head as the silence stretched on.

"Well, your other sister Elizabeth _has_ been watching me this past week-" Mr. Collins began, only to be interrupted by Mary.

"No, Mr. Collins. She would not make you a good wife."

"But you said-"

"Yes, I did, but that does not mean that Lizzy is fit to be your wife. Elizabeth is all that is proper and good, but I am afraid she would not get along with you nor fill your requirements in a wife-I love my sister dearly, but she is too independent and outspoken to truly immerse herself in your life, not to mention how she would likely clash with your Lady Catherine."

Elizabeth could only agree-she doubted she would last more than a few moments in Lady Catherine's nosy presence before telling her exactly what she thought of her, which would certainly not endear her to her husband. _Husband_-the mere thought of the word connected with the odious parson was enough to make Elizabeth shudder.

"Perhaps, Mr. Collins, you should look to a different sister for a wife, one a little more like yourself. After all, it is said that opposites attract, but we all know that the secret to a long and happy marriage is a meeting of two like minds which are similar in their beliefs, their characters, and their outlook on life. If I may say so, both Elizabeth's and Jane's characters are far too different from your own for them to be truly happy with you, or you with them. No, you need a wife who espouses your beliefs and ideals."

Mary's impassioned speech all but confirmed Elizabeth's suspicions, and she could almost feel her jaw hitting the floor in consternation. Mary actually _wanted_ to attach herself to Mr. Collins? As ludicrous as the idea sounded, it appeared to be confirmed in that moment. It was all Elizabeth could do not to barge back into the room and demand her sister tell her what she was about with this disastrous conversation. She kept her peace, however, and listened through the open door, imagining the patient expression on Mary's face as she waited for Mr. Collins' response as he puzzled through her declaration.

At length, the parson's excited voice floated out through the door, and Elizabeth knew her sister was doomed-he had finally figured it out.

"Miss Mary, I believe I have had an epiphany-a veritable inspiration from God himself!"

"Really, Mr. Collins?" Mary's wry voice answered. "Then you must share it with me-I do so enjoy hearing the word of God himself."

"Indeed, I am sure it does you great credit, my dear cousin. But as I was saying, I believe I have gone about my quest to secure myself a companion in the most backwards manner. Upon entering this house, my eyes were immediately caught by your angelic older sister, and I believe I was enraptured by her, never considering there was another who more properly complemented my situation in life and my need in a wife. I am ashamed to admit my weakness for the appearance of true beauty has overwhelmed my sense and ability to look for the finer attributes in others, and I daresay that now that God has seen fit to illuminate me to my failings, I should correct myself and pursue one who is more suited to me in every way."

Elizabeth could not imagine a more insulting speech. Mary was perhaps not the most beautiful young lady, but she was not_ merely_ plain-it was in comparison with her sisters that her lack of physical attractiveness was commented upon. Furthermore, one did _not_ declare oneself partial to one lady, certainly not while discussing the beauty of her sister, and _certainly not_ the very same morning one had made an offer of marriage to said sister. Yet it appeared Mr. Collins was about to do just that.

"I believe you have seen the light, Mr. Collins," Mary responded.

"Then I shall pay my addresses posthaste."

It was at this point that Elizabeth, chagrined at hearing her sister actually encourage the parson to pay his addresses to her, decided she had heard enough and moved away from the opening. She was not certain her constitution was up to the task of hearing another flowery proposal from her cousin.

She stepped into the kitchen to speak with the housekeeper Mrs. Hill-who turned out to have nothing more than a small question about the evening's menu-before returning to the parlor, hoping Mr. Collins had completed his task so she could speak to her sister.

Just as she was about to enter the room, Elizabeth was nearly trampled over by her overly amorous cousin, who was himself exiting the parlor in a great rush, presumably to go to her father in his bookroom.

"A thousand apologies, cousin," he exclaimed as he reached out to steady her. His expression, while not entirely friendly (no doubt due to her role in the morning's events), was not exactly unfriendly either. "I am on a mission of some importance which requires some haste, but I most heartily and sincerely apologize for not watching my step and exiting your excellent parlor without due care and attention. I trust I have not inconvenienced you or caused you damage in any way?"

When Elizabeth assured him she was completely well, he immediately bowed and hastened on his way, leaving her in the hallway, bemused at his undue haste-it appeared Mr. Collins was not about to leave _this_ proposal to chance and was determined to secure Mr. Bennet's consent as soon as he could. Shaking her head at his antics, Elizabeth turned on her way and stepped into the parlor, feeling her gaze immediately arrested by her sister's slightly stunned expression and rosy complexion, something which was not normal for the normally staid and pale girl.

Walking over to the sofa, Elizabeth sat down and joined her sister, taking one of her hands in her own. "Mary, are you certain you know what you are about?"

"Lizzy, do not start with me, I beg you," responded Mary in a slightly peevish voice.

"I merely wish to ascertain your thoughts, sister. You know what kind of man he is-you have seen daily proof of it since he arrived last week. Are you certain you wish to shackle yourself to such a man for the rest of your life?"

"I can assure you, Lizzy, I know exactly what I am about. Did it ever occur to you that I am more practical and less romantic than the rest of my sisters? I will grant you that Mr. Collins is not the cleverest of men, but I believe that when guided by a woman of more sense, he can be an acceptable husband."

Elizabeth considered this, knowing what her sister said was likely true. But it did not account for the constant need to moderate Collins' stupidity and tendency toward social faux pas-in short, her sister would have to be forever vigilant, which would undoubtedly be wearing upon her.

"And further, Lizzy, it may have escaped your attention, but he and I share similar interests and views, primarily those of a religious and spiritual nature. I presume you listened outside the door as I guided him toward his declaration."

Elizabeth had the grace to blush at the suggestion.

"It is nothing less than I did this morning when he proposed to Jane, after all."

The two sisters shared a laugh and drew each other into an affectionate hug-Elizabeth became slightly misty-eyed at the thought that she would be losing one of her younger sisters to the marriage estate.

After a moment of commiseration, Mary continued. "I was completely serious when I espoused my views to my future husband. I believe similar dispositions will do well in a marriage, and since I do share many of the same opinions, I believe I shall do very well with him."

Mary turned her eyes on Elizabeth, and her gaze held a slightly pleading quality. "I _want _to marry him, Lizzy. I believe this to be my best chance at happiness. Please support me."

"Of course, Mary," Elizabeth responded, drawing her sister in for another embrace. "I only want the best for you, and if this is what you truly want, I shall not stand in your way."

And so it was done. Shortly after Mr. Collins left to apply for Mr. Bennet's consent, Mary was called for, and at her insistence, Elizabeth accompanied her. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Bennet was perturbed at the manner and speed in which his cousin's affections were so seamlessly transferred from Jane to Mary, but when Mary spoke of her desire for the marriage, supported by Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet was forced to give his consent. He expressed, as coherently as a man about to lose a daughter to the marriage state, how happy he was that Mary had found someone with whom she could spend the rest of her life and told her he was proud of her, wishing her all the happiness in her new estate. Although Mr. Bennet had never been one to show his emotions, the three shed many a tear at the news, both in happiness and love for one another.

Elizabeth merely hoped her sister _truly_ knew what she was doing.


	18. Chapter XVIII

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews and the continued interest in this story.

**Previously:** In the aftermath of Mr. Collins' failed proposal to Jane, Mary convinces him she would be receptive to his overtures. He proposes and is accepted.

**CHAPTER XVIII**

Regardless of the impression the Bennet sisters had gained of Georgiana Darcy, she was not a terrible person. She was a devoted sister who loved her brother dearly, and she treated him with the utmost kindness and respect. She had many friends and admirers which she had gained during her years in a prestigious school in London, and she was very accomplished in her studies and, more particularly, was skilled on the pianoforte, delighting those who were fortunate enough to hear her play.

Unfortunately, however, the death of her parents had put a heavy burden on her brother Fitzwilliam's shoulders. Beyond the fact that he now had a large estate and various other holdings to manage, he had been thrust into the role of protector of a much younger sister, almost to the point where he had become a father figure to her rather than a brother. Of course, being quite young himself and having little to no experience with rearing a child, he had done his best to raise the young girl as his parents would have wanted. Unfortunately, although teaching her to act properly and with decorum had gone well, he was not so successful in teaching her to moderate her desires. Thus, a girl whose economic state in life would have already made her quite spoiled had been led to believe that almost anything was hers if she wanted it.

When she decided Mr. Bingley was what she wanted, she had assumed to herself that he was hers by right. The general kindness of her brother's friend, Mr. Bingley, had done nothing to dissuade Georgiana from her infatuation, and she had held the brightest hopes for their future when their arrival at Hertfordshire had changed everything. Suddenly, Mr. Bingley's attentions were clearly focused on another young lady. It had made Georgiana heartsick.

But she had quickly rallied. Her brother was a man of action, and he had set a clear example for her. If he wanted a fine horse, he would go out and look for one, not resting until he found it. If he believed something at Pemberley was not proceeding as it should, he worked to resolve the problem. Therefore, if Mr. Bingley was not paying her the attention he should, Georgiana would follow her brother's example and rectify the situation herself.

Because his sister Caroline was not at Netherfield, Mr. Bingley allowed Georgiana to act as the estate's mistress. As such, she was in charge of the preparations for the dinner to which the Bennet family had been invited. Georgiana was certainly less than delighted with the idea of entertaining such a tiresome family, but she would ensure they found not a single fault with her-or, to be precise, Mr. Bingley's-table. The servants were all given careful instructions, and Georgiana arranged the placecards on the table herself. Knowing that how the table was arranged could mean either a horrid or a delightful evening, Georgiana placed herself next to Mr. Bingley. With a small smile tugging at the edges of her mouth, she placed Jane Bennet next to Mr. Collins. With any luck, the odious man would find an opportunity to propose to Jane and thereby release Mr. Bingley of his silly temporary infatuation with her. That would certainly be a proper end to the evening. But even if Jane remained unattached to the parson, the dinner would not be unpleasant-Georgiana could converse with Mr. Bingley at her leisure, and that was what she wanted. It was difficult to talk to him at Netherfield-for he was a very popular man and frequently invited to have tea or dinner with nearby families. And when he was not doing that, he was visiting Longbourn. Georgiana simply could not understand what was so alluring to Mr. Bingley about Jane Bennet-the young woman smiled no more at Mr. Bingley than she did at other men. Georgiana had never seen a true sign that Jane Bennet cared for him-absolutely nothing she had seen (and she had watched carefully) had indicated any such extreme emotion as love.

Georgiana left the dining room to attend to more preparations, her thoughts filled with the image of an evening spent in conversation with Mr. Bingley.

When at last the guests to Netherfield arrived, Georgiana welcomed them with the grace of the perfect hostess, pushing aside her ill feelings toward the Bennets and showing Mr. Bingley just how gracious she could be. When they at last moved to the dining room, Georgiana felt positively excited about what awaited them. She moved quickly to her seat, sitting down before anyone else in the party, and she nearly beamed to herself as she glanced over to see Mr. Bingley approaching her. Unfortunately, Jane Bennet was with him, but Georgiana had the patience to wait for them to separate.

As she looked at the pair, however, they stood there awkwardly. Her good humor began to dissipate. Both of their expressions were uneasy, as if something was happening which should not be occurring. She tried to meet Mr. Bingley's gaze with her own, but he averted his eyes and gave a small cough. Why was he acting so strangely? And was that a flash of guilt in his eyes?

"Miss Darcy," came a quiet voice from several seats down; Elizabeth Bennet was staring at her. "Might I have a word with you?"

Georgiana looked at Mr. Bingley, feeling a bit mystified and frustrated, and then she stood and walked to Elizabeth Bennet, furious at having to leave Mr. Bingley's side even for a second. "Is there something I can help you with?" asked Georgiana in a testy manner, glancing across the way at Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley, who were sharing a humored smile. Her jaw dropped slightly as she saw Jane Bennet begin to sit in _her_ seat.

"We are to sit together tonight, it seems," said Elizabeth with a strange gentleness.

Georgiana frowned. "I do not know what you-" Her gaze fell on the place card for the seat beside Elizabeth. Her name was written on it. "I do not-I do not understand." As she stared at the place card, her temper began to rise. _Someone_ had changed the seating. Her eyes found Mr. Bingley and Jane Bennet again, and she pressed her lips together tightly. She was so angry she was almost shaking. She whipped her head back toward Elizabeth Bennet. Only that wretched woman would have had the audacity to do such a thing!

The object of her wrath looked at her with a puzzled expression, the picture of innocence, but Georgiana was not fooled. She pinned Elizabeth Bennet with a glare and sat down in her seat. "Cold shoulder" would not begin to describe how she intended to act toward Elizabeth Bennet.

"Miss Darcy, are you well?" ventured Elizabeth, a hint of trepidation in her voice.

Georgiana did not deign to give her a verbal response. If she did, she knew she would say something she regretted. She nodded stiffly and turned her eyes to her plate.

A few seconds later, everything got worse. She had placed Mr. Collins next to Jane Bennet in her original seating plan; since her place card had been switched with Jane's, that meant the insufferable man was beside her. And as soon as he took his place, he began with his sickening flattery. "Miss Georgiana, you look especially lovely tonight. Of course, you must know that the eyes of a man in love are colored to enjoy almost everything in his sight."

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"I am certainly glad that you benefit from contact with your most esteemed aunt and my gracious patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. In encouraging me to come to Hertfordshire, she has enabled me to take advantage of a most fortunate opportunity for domestic happiness. I can only hope that you, too, may one day be so happy as I-or might there already be a man who has stolen your heart away? But of course, you would only marry a man of the utmost grace and character-and naturally, with the guiding influence of her ladyship and your brother, you will never find yourself trapped in the mire that so frequently ensnares young women these days."

As the parson continued to prattle on, fawning over her in the most ludicrous manner imaginable, Georgiana's ill mood grew more extreme. Whereas before that day she had severely disliked the Bennets, now she was beginning to loathe them for having subjected her to this obsequious fool.

Occasionally, Elizabeth Bennet attempted to draw Georgiana into conversation during the times when Mr. Collins paused to take a breath, but Georgiana maintained an icy silence, and Elizabeth soon desisted her efforts.

Georgiana's mood was not improved by the frequent smiles and laughter coming from Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley. The two looked utterly content, and it only served to make Georgiana even more miserable. The evening, it seemed, could not get worse.

Finally, however, there came some good news. "I so dislike to bring an object of some sorrow to the attention of such an ebullient party as this one," said Mr. Collins, his voice loud enough to bring everyone's eyes to rest on him, "but I wish, though it pains me to say it due to the unfolding of recent events, to inform everyone that I shall be departing to Kent on the morrow. I know my presence shall be sorely missed-"

Georgiana highly doubted anyone would be missing his presence at all. She almost began to tune him out completely, reveling in the notion that at least she would no longer be subjected to his company, when something he said broke into her consciousness:

"-and it is, as I have said, my utter delight, nay, my utmost and heartfelt gladness, that leads me to inform you all of the blessed situation that I found myself in: I am now happily engaged to my dearest cousin and soon-to-be life partner, Miss Mary Bennet."

Georgiana forced her gaze to rest on the parson's betrothed, and she noted the slight smile tugging at the girl's mouth. However, Georgiana's own almost-smile, which had begun to show at the parson's announcement of his departure, was quickly becoming a frown. She had hoped very much that Mr. Collins would succeed in wooing Jane Bennet, thereby removing her as a threat to Georgiana's rightful claims on Mr. Bingley. But apparently, that was not to be-placing Mr. Collins near Jane Bennet would not have helped in the slightest. Not if he had already been engaged before arriving. One of her plans had been defeated before she had even thought of it.

It was all Georgiana could do to keep from flinging her fork onto the floor. The urge to partake in a childish temper tantrum had never been so strong as it was at that moment. She shifted slightly to look at her brother, only to find him staring at Elizabeth Bennet with a strange expression on his face. Was he as disgusted with her as Georgiana herself was? Would that this trip to Hertfordshire had never come to pass! She longed for the precious days spent at Pemberley in the company of her brother and his dear friend Mr. Bingley. If only they could leave Netherfield and return there!

When Mr. Collins turned to her and began to comment on how the lace on her dress reminded him of a tablecloth at Rosings, she almost began to cry. She wanted to leave this miserable place!


	19. Chapter XIX

**Previously:** The Bennets dine at Netherfield, where Georgiana becomes incensed that her name card was mysteriously switched with Elizabeth's.

* * *

**CHAPTER XIX**

Mr. Collins departed the day after the residents of Longbourn dined at Netherfield, returning to Kent as he had originally planned. Elizabeth had no doubt he was eager to be away to report his success to his patroness, and for the most part, the Bennet family was not unhappy to see him go. Of the Bennet family, it was of course Mary who was uncertain, as-although her calm and stoic countenance betrayed little of her emotions-her general air of anticipation for her wedding certainly meant that she would miss him more than anyone else in the house.

In the days after the parson's departure, life at Longbourn gradually slipped back into the comfortable routine which had characterized the Bennets' lives before his arrival, but with one significant exception: with the engagement of her middle daughter, Mrs. Bennet was finally fulfilling one of her lifelong dreams, and, as such, in her eyes there was much to be done to prepare a celebration the likes of which the small neighborhood had never seen. It did not matter that Mary was perhaps her least favorite daughter (although Elizabeth could also possibly lay claim to that title) or that she was considered the plainest. It was a daughter being married which mattered, and Mrs. Bennet would never allow it to be said that she could not plan and execute a wedding breakfast which even the nobility would not find lacking in any way.

It was in these few weeks when Elizabeth felt that she was coming to know her sister far better than she ever had previously. Mary had always been quiet and reserved, uncomfortable in the society where her sisters generally excelled and ambivalent toward some of the social niceties (such as dancing) in which other young ladies took great pleasure. In short, she had rarely opened up to anyone-even her sisters-and could not be said to be especially close to any other member of her family.

For perhaps the first time, Elizabeth spent a considerable amount of her days with Mary, speaking of many things-from their lives at Longbourn and their family and friends to speculations about what Mary could expect in her new life in Kent. Privately, Elizabeth did not see how life with Mr. Collins could be anything but irksome and tiring, but she had to admit after a certain amount of thought-not to mention rueful admissions-that a marriage to Mr. Collins was a highly eligible match for Mary, and given her temperament and interests, she was likely correct in her estimation of her likely prospects for marriage. Such an offer may never have come again for Mary, and although she had had to procure one by somewhat unorthodox means, it behooved her to seize her opportunity and make the best of it. Besides, for all Elizabeth knew, a true regard and love could grow between them-stranger things had been known to happen.

Other aspects of life at Longbourn also continued to change. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had become regular visitors to Longbourn, and although Bingley's motivations were clear (his admiration of Jane was steadily growing and visible for all to see), Mr. Darcy's were not. It was evident he held little tolerance for the company of most of the house's residents, if his grim countenance whenever Lydia snorted or exclaimed in her loud voice and his reaction to Mrs. Bennet's constant proclamations were anything to go by.

At Longbourn, Mr. Darcy sometimes kept his own council, often saying nothing of import for at least the early part of his visit. The windows of the parlor seemed to be his choice location, and he would sometimes stare out of them for some time, contemplating issues to which only he was privy. When he did deign to join the conversation of the others at Longbourn, he surprisingly kept to the company of Elizabeth, although he was not shy of speaking with Kitty and did spend some time watching Jane and Bingley's interactions together.

For Elizabeth, his behavior was singular, as, although he spoke to her whenever he was able, he made it clear that he was talking as a friend, and he took great pains to avoid inciting her expectation that his motivations were anything more than simple chats between acquaintances. Yet his actions were not consistent with his continued professions of friendship and no greater admiration; other than with Kitty, with whom he did speak a little, he spoke no more than perfunctorily with any other inhabitant of Hertfordshire, certainly not to the extent of holding long conversations as he did with Elizabeth-and those generally were only ended once the accepted time for a visit had elapsed.

Their topics of conversation were varied, ranging from literature (something they both enjoyed), to the current state of affairs (especially on the continent), to Elizabeth's love of horses (which surprised him once he discovered it). Mr. Darcy's own passion for riding made horses a natural subject which they discussed long and in great detail. His knowledge was necessarily much greater than her own, and he was eager to share his experiences, conveying a sense of pride in the fine animals which he bred and owned. Knowing her father was unable to afford the finest horses, he gravely, and with much dignity, invited Elizabeth to ride horses from his own stables if she was ever in Derbyshire, citing Elizabeth's acquaintance with his sister Georgiana as the means by which she could accept an invitation. Privately, Elizabeth knew this was unlikely in the extreme given Georgiana's distaste for the entire Bennet clan, but as Darcy seemed as though he had not yet recognized his sister's reticence when it came to anything Bennet, Elizabeth thanked him for the invitation and promised to take him up on his offer should the opportunity ever present itself.

The other topic which seemed to greatly surprise him was when he learned of Elizabeth's knowledge of her father's estate. Since her father was sickly, she had helped with its running for the past several years, learning many things about planting, drainage, and the books her father maintained to keep track of his resources. She knew Darcy's estate was many times the size of her father's and that it must also be much more complicated to operate, but his admiration for her knowledge could not be feigned-he complimented on her common sense and skill and gave her advice which she generally found to be good and helpful.

Their conversation would often grow spirited, and he seemed to find her candor and lack of deference for his station refreshing, largely, she felt, due to his interactions with young ladies of the ton who would no doubt agree with anything he said for the purpose of ingratiating themselves with him. He often seemed to play devil's advocate, espousing an opinion which she knew could not be his own, merely for the sake of eliciting a contradictory opinion from her-or at least that was how it seemed to Elizabeth. Her sometimes-biting wit and sarcasm did not offend him in the slightest-on the contrary, he appeared to enjoy it when she made some acerbic comment or irreverent observation, and he responded with a few of his own. He was not a man like Mr. Collins, who could be made sport of without his understanding of the true thrust of whatever she said-his wit was keen and his understanding impressive, all which served to allow Elizabeth to enjoy his company and anticipate their discussions.

For Elizabeth's part, his slight of her that day outside her home had been forgiven and forgotten. She saw him as a confident and intelligent man, someone who was clearly her intellectual equal and who complemented her in his opinions and knowledge of the world. She knew she was not immune to his charms-indeed, he was tall and broad-shouldered, even more handsome a man than his friend Mr. Bingley, and he _had_ been very attentive to her. But it was that attentiveness which continued to confuse her; he claimed to be interested in conversing with her due to shared interests and intellectual debate, but Elizabeth knew that a man did not ignore all others of his acquaintance and focus on a young woman if he had no admiration for her. Perhaps he did see her as an interesting and pleasing companion in a region with a distinct dearth of them, but that still did not explain his focus on her to the exclusion of all others. After her previous experience, Elizabeth was fearful of letting another into her heart, but with this man who had suddenly appeared in her life, she wondered if it were not worth the risk.

But then reason asserted itself, and she reigned in her flights of fancy. Perhaps he _was _paying more attention to her than strict propriety would warrant, but that did not make his claims any less valid. Aside from her father-with whom she was reasonably assured he had exchanged few words-she had always lamented the lack of spirited conversation in the neighborhood and felt that a man who was used to a much more varied form of society would likely cling to any source of the same, regardless of from whom it originated. He would not lower himself to court a country miss who had little to recommend her, not when he could be assured of so much more. And his initial slight of her, regardless of the fact that she had forgiven him, put to rest any thought of admiration on that score, even though he had gone to great pains to apologize for his words-that apology had been earnest and sincere, but he had made no special attempt to assure her that his words had been anything other than what they appeared. The subject of his request for her to open the Netherfield ball with him was troubling, but again, she felt like he was simply attempting to apologize to her completely, which explained his request.

No, he could not have any serious designs on her, and indeed, as time wore on, he did not behave any differently than he had all along, leading her to feel justified in her assessment of the situation. The matter decided in her own mind, Elizabeth resolved to think on it no more and to accept his overtures as he had made them, without any expectation of anything further.

Of Georgiana Darcy, the Bennet family saw little, and during the infrequent times in which she did deign to make an appearance, she did and said little. To Elizabeth, who was a studier of characters and observer of others' behavior, Georgiana's opinion of the company was as plain as though she had painted it on a great banner and displayed it for all the world to see. After all, Georgiana's brow was usually furrowed in displeasure as she gazed around her with disapproval and haughty disdain.

Elizabeth, who had seen her during her more amiable moments, knew that she was not at heart a mean-spirited or truly snobbish person. Until learning Elizabeth's identity that day outside Netherfield, Georgiana Darcy had been amiable and pleasant-truly well-bred and agreeable. However, though Elizabeth could not countenance her disapprobation in the matter of Jane's felicity, she could understand why the younger girl should feel the way she did-young infatuation was often a powerful emotion, as Elizabeth herself could attest. Some day, Georgiana would grow out of it-in fact, she had to, for as Jane and Bingley became closer to one another, it appeared the object of Georgiana's feelings would soon be off the marriage market.

What Elizabeth could not understand was how Mr. Darcy could possibly miss his sister's contempt for the entire company, particularly the way she looked down her nose at any member of the Bennet family. He was an astute and observant man, yet in the matter of his sister and her behavior, he was strangely oblivious. Why, Elizabeth could not fathom, but she suspected it was not simply an inability to see Georgiana's flaws-her forced apology to Elizabeth had been testament to his desire to mold his sister in to a proper young lady.

Nearly a fortnight after the unlamented departure of the Mr. Collins, Longbourn was once again graced by the presence of its estimable neighbors, but this time for another purpose altogether. Though the fact that Mr. Bingley was to throw a ball had been canvassed throughout the neighborhood, nothing official had been said on that score, and it had not come up in conversation within Elizabeth's hearing. Elizabeth herself, of course, knew that it was to be held due to to Mr. Darcy's request of her hand for the first two dances, but she had made no mention of it to anyone, including Jane, as she had not wanted to explain from where her knowledge originated or how she came to be promised to dance.

When Longbourn's visitors had been shown to the parlor and the obligatory small talk had been completed, Mr. Bingley began the invitation thus:

"Mrs. Bennet, our purpose in coming here today is not simply a social one. I wish to invite you-all of you-to a ball to be held at Netherfield on the 26th of November." He punctuated the invitation by handing a small, elaborate invitation to Elizabeth's mother.

Now, it was well known that the Bennet matron was not the most observant or clever-indeed, her understanding was somewhat weak, and her opinions insipid. But in the matter of her daughters and eligible young men, her oblivious nature became a keen and observant nature; Mrs. Bennet was able to suss out a compliment to her daughters and see a potential suitor from several miles away. In the matter of the ball, she quickly determined that Bingley's motive for delivering his invitation in person, rather than just sending the invitation to all the invitees through his servants, was a compliment to his admiration for Jane. Elizabeth could see she became almost giddy with excitement, yet her answer was somewhat more decorous and calm than might have been expected.

"Mr. Bingley!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. "You do us great honor by delivering your invitation in person. We thank you for this very kind gesture and assure you we would be vastly pleased to attend."

"You are very welcome, Mrs. Bennet. Our-_families _have become very close, Mrs. Bennet, and I assure you that I am very much looking forward to having the pleasure of your company." Bingley throughout his speech never took his eyes off Jane, leading Elizabeth to believe he had wanted to say that he and Jane had become close rather than their "families."

The rest of the Bennet party reacted somewhat predictably-Jane blushed and pronounced her pleasure to accept the invitation; Lydia laughed gleefully and exclaimed over the fun she would have; and Elizabeth, Kitty, and Mary all professed various degrees of acceptance and excitement, although in Mary's case it was likely nothing more than politeness which made her express herself so. Mary was not known for her affinity to the ballroom.

For Elizabeth, her dislike of dancing in general caused her a certain level of ambivalence toward the prospect of an evening engaged in the activity, but she also felt a small thrill of excitement-after all, whether she liked the entertainment or not, she had been asked by the handsomest man of the greatest consequence in the neighborhood to be his partner for the opening dances. What woman would not feel excitement, regardless of what she believed the man's intentions to be?

The reactions of the two Darcys heavily contrasted each other. Darcy showed no great emotion, but he did dart a piercing glance at Elizabeth-which caused another frisson of excitement to move through her-and murmur his pleasure at the prospect of an evening in pleasant company. Georgiana, however, said nothing, and her lips were a hard line of displeasure at the thought of the object of her affections showing attention to another. Elizabeth was uncertain as to whether Georgiana would even be allowed to attend, as she was not yet out, to Elizabeth's understanding. Elizabeth did fell slightly sorry for the young woman, but the happiness on Jane's face was enough to put that emotion to rest.

"I do have one other matter to attend to," Bingley continued when the exclamations of approbation died down. He turned to Jane and favored her with a smile.

"Dearest Jane, I would like to take this opportunity to solicit your hand for the first two dances, if you are not already engaged."

Elizabeth doubted that Mr. Bingley seriously expected that Jane was already engaged for the requested dances, but his asking in front of her entire family was a bold stroke, and it showed his intentions as clearly as though he had shouted them from the rooftops.

Jane colored and smiled, murmuring her lack of engagement and complete willingness to cede the dances to Bingley, which caused him to bask in the happiness of the success of his mission.

The Darcys, however, appeared to be less pleased. Georgiana became as white as a sheet, and a tear escaped from the corner of her eye, causing Elizabeth to feel a certain amount of sympathy and empathy for the young girl-this could not be easy for her. Darcy himself started and peered at Bingley, his face etched in shock. It was clear that, although he had certainly known of his friend's attachment to the most beautiful Bennet sister, he had not expected such a declaration in front of her entire family.

They would have to get used to the situation, though, Elizabeth reflected with some amusement. She had known of Mr. Bingley's regard for some time now, and she doubted there was anything on earth which would prevent him from following his inclination through to its logical conclusion. Elizabeth could not help feeling satisfaction and happiness for her sister-it was a wonderful match.


	20. Chapter XX

**Previously:** Elizabeth thinks about the enigma of Mr. Darcy and how he is paying attention to her, without any intentions. Mr. Bingley invites the Bennets to a ball.

* * *

**CHAPTER XX**

The Netherfield ball was held on Tuesday, November 26. The morning air had been cold and crisp, and a pervasive chill continued throughout the day. But that did nothing to stifle the excitement of the occasion-if anything, the prospect of being indoors in a warm ballroom rather than outdoors in the cool air heightened feelings of anticipation.

As Elizabeth entered the ballroom, however, she was uncertain as to how exactly she should feel. She had, after all, been shunning such assemblies due to an incident in her past better left forgotten. But there was something about being back in the glitter of the ballroom that made her realize it had not completely lost its appeal to her. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that it had haunted her dreams as well as her nightmares. She could not escape it, no matter how hard she tried.

When she saw Mr. Darcy and met his eyes with her own, her cheeks colored. She did not believe it had escaped either of their memories as to who would be her first dance partner. The significance behind Mr. Darcy's gaze told her that much. The notion of not coming to the ball had occurred to her several times throughout the day, and now the idea of fleeing Netherfield and holing up with her father in his library was looking appealing. But she had come this far-and she would _not_ let Mr. Darcy intimidate her. She would hold her head high and meet that brooding countenance with an amiable face and friendly conversation. At least, she would _try_ to do so. She could not always predict where her quick tongue would lead her.

Before she knew it, it was time for the first dance, and Mr. Darcy was walking determinedly across the floor to claim her. Jane was already deep in conversation with Mr. Bingley, so Elizabeth was not even able to garner a sympathetic look from her before she had to turn to her undesired partner.

"Miss Bennet," said he, his voice stiff. His face was unreadable, but Elizabeth suspected he was regretting making a prior claim to a dance with her. After all, a man of his position could have his pick of any young lady in Hertfordshire-there was absolutely no reason he should have claimed Elizabeth's hand rather than someone else's.

"Mr. Darcy," returned Elizabeth politely, still puzzling over why he had claimed her first dance to begin with. The idea of dancing with her certainly did not seem to bring him any joy-he might have been looking over an accounting log rather than addressing a young lady. His face was serious, and his dark eyes, though discerning and intense, did not seem to take any pleasure in observing her figure. After all, she had already had that fact confirmed by his own words. He must simply have been out of his senses when he asked her to be his partner.

"I believe you promised me the first dance," said Mr. Darcy. He appeared uncomfortable to be making such a supplication, which appeared to only further confirm Elizabeth's suspicion that he had not been himself when he first made the request.

"That is something I cannot deny, Mr. Darcy," allowed Elizabeth in a teasing tone, "though I confess I wish otherwise. I have long since developed a distaste for dancing, but I have given you my word, and I will not renege on it. My first dance belongs only to you."

Nothing more was said between them as they moved to the dance floor and stood opposite each other. The dance soon began, and Elizabeth studiously avoided looking at Mr. Darcy as he fixedly stared at her. She noticed Jane dancing with Mr. Bingley, the both of them as happy as larks.

At last, Elizabeth found the silence between her and Mr. Darcy to be unbearable, so she endeavored to break it by drawing her tall and quiet partner into conversation. "Mr. Darcy, surely you did not invite me to dance with you so we could practice our imitation of church mice."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Do you always find it necessary to speak while dancing?"

"Why, we should appear strange to the whole party if we danced without talking to each other at all," commented Elizabeth. "For my part, I much prefer speaking to dancing, so I see no reason why not to exercise my mind as I exercise my feet."

"I suspect both your mind and feet receive plenty of exercise."

"And I intend to keep it that way," noted Elizabeth with a smile. "By speaking with me as we dance, you are helping me with the pursuit of my goal."

"It is a goal you need no help in pursuing. You appear quite able to entertain yourself without my help."

"Perhaps you are right. I like to split my time between roaming the countryside and studying the characters of others. When I am doing one of those things, it is almost impossible for me to be unhappy."

Mr. Darcy paused before venturing, "And what do you see in my character?"

"Your character is not an easy one to sketch. I have heard many conflicting reports about you, and I am having difficulty in putting the pieces together."

Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Then I am a challenge for you?"

"Deciding on your character is a challenge, yes," admitted Elizabeth, "but it is one I intend to overcome soon enough."

"I sense you are not one to be stumped for long."

Elizabeth laughed. "That is the impression I like to give. I believe you and I are quite similar in that respect."

"How so?"

"Neither of us like to dwell longer on a subject than is strictly necessary. And you certainly never seem to be a believer in small talk."

"There is-there _are _some subjects that even I dwell on longer than I should," admitted he.

"Ah! Well, those must be close to your heart. I should think you would not wish to share them with me."

"Yes," responded he in a curt voice. Elizabeth had apparently touched on some nerve, and they said no more until the dance ended.

She and her partner curtsied and bowed respectively, and she said with a polite smile, "Mr. Darcy."

He stared at her intently, as if unsure what to say. Then, suddenly, he spoke: "Miss Bennet, would you care to dance again?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he appeared surprised. In fact, the words did not so much come out of his mouth as spill out.

Elizabeth was no less surprised-and was perhaps even more confused. What had possessed him to ask such a question?

Her mind reeling and heart pounding, she gently told him, "I should think you were showing me favor, Mr. Darcy. I have been assured that at the last dance you danced only with one woman who was not formerly of your acquaintance-and _that _was my sister. We shall already be the object of a week's worth of gossip. If we should dance again, the whole month would be filled with us."

In a tone not devoid of haughtiness, Mr. Darcy responded, "You are quite right."

As Mr. Darcy stiffly led her away from the dance floor, Elizabeth found her head was filled with confusion. Requesting a second dance was an unmistakable sign of favor toward a young woman. But why would Mr. Darcy-who certainly showed no signs of liking _anything _in Hertfordshire-have been close to making such a misstep? And why had her heart lurched at the idea of actually accepting his request?

Once Elizabeth was escorted to Jane, Mr. Darcy bowed and left with a few muttered words of parting. Elizabeth watched him go, her eyes briefly falling on Mr. Bingley, who was asking a lady to dance. She might have been concerned had it not been for the fact that Mr. Bingley's gaze kept returning to Jane.

Elizabeth noted that Mr. Darcy did not seem to be interested in asking any other woman to dance, and then she turned to her sister with a frown on her face.

Jane was looking at Elizabeth in puzzlement. "You danced with Mr. Darcy, Lizzy? I thought you disliked the man."

Elizabeth bit her lip. She did dislike the man-and she wanted to tell Jane that. But for some reason, the words would not come. Instead, she said, "He asked me for the dance some time ago. I believe it was simply a further apology for his unkind words about me. He is, after all, a gentleman, if a bit of a standoffish one, and I daresay dancing with him was more pleasant than might have been expected, considering his behavior at assemblies such as this one."

"Lizzy, do you like him?" asked Jane in a hushed voice.

"Jane," said Elizabeth with a smile, "I should sooner marry a mop than Mr. Darcy-I am certain the mop would have more to say!" She let out a light laugh, though there was something slightly insincere to it. "But come-tell me how your dance with Mr. Bingley went! Even now, he can't keep his eyes off you."

Jane flushed, but she willingly began to divulge a few details about the inconceivable kindnesses of Mr. Bingley. But as Jane began to sing his praises, Elizabeth could not help but think about Mr. Darcy once again. Though she disliked dancing as a general rule, there was a part of her-a miniscule part that could perhaps be measured by a grain of rice-that wished she could have continued dancing with him as he had requested. After all, she told herself, he was an enigma, and she wanted to figure him out. The fact that she still felt a warmth in her hands where she had been touched by him was due simply to the chill of the winter weather. And the fact that she kept thinking about his curly locks and his dark eyes was because the former would not stay out of the latter. She had no interest in him beyond that of a character study. None at all.

Now, she just had to survive the rest of the night. The ball had just begun, and there would probably be at least one more man who asked her to dance. There was no reason for her thoughts to linger on Mr. Darcy.


	21. Chapter XXI

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback! Make sure you read this chapter carefully, particularly in regard to the perceptions of Darcy and Bingley toward the status of the two eldest Bennet girls.

**Previously:** At the Netherfield ball, Elizabeth and Darcy dance. He asks her to dance with him again, but she politely tells him that to do so would make it seem as if he were showing her favor, so they do not dance a second time. The ball, however, has only just begun.

* * *

**Chapter XXI**

For Elizabeth Bennet, the rest of the evening took on on an almost surreal quantity, almost as though someone else was inhabiting her body, directing her motions as they pleased while she sat back and merely observed.

The reason for this, of course, was Elizabeth's level of participation in the evening's festivities. For the previous three years, she had avoided gatherings of this nature, completely eschewing the monthly assemblies at Meryton and generally only attending balls when given by one of the local families, for to refuse would be a grave insult-one which, regardless of her distaste for the activity, she was not willing to make. And even when she _had_ been persuaded to attend, she had made it very clear she had no intention of dancing, refusing the first application for her hand, knowing full well that such a refusal precluded her from participating for the rest of the evening. Word had quickly gotten out that Miss Elizabeth Bennet could not be prevailed upon to dance, and the young men of the neighborhood had focused their attentions on more willing participants.

But it was not the society which was lacking, it was the activity-dancing held far too many less than pleasant memories for her, and she refused to open herself up again in such a manner. She was still lively enough in other ways. She was always eager for conversation, joined in at the card tables on occasion, and could be convinced to display her-in her own opinion-meager talents on the pianoforte. But in the ballroom she would resolutely refuse to dance, sitting at the side, speaking with friends who were not engaged for a set, or simply watching what was passing at the time. In short, she had been a spectator, watching with some interest the ebb and flow of the ballroom, observing the dresses of the ladies and the coats of the men or examining people's interactions and their overheard smatterings of conversations while occasionally swaying to the music. She would study the characters of the room, newcomers and old friends alike, engaging in the pastime of which she and her father had made a game over the years.

Thus, after her dance with Darcy had concluded, she settled herself in for another night of observing the assembled dancers, confident she had done much more than her duty in standing up for a set-that was to be all for the night. However, the best laid plans-and those formed on the thoughts of a mere moment-have a tendency to unravel in a way most displeasing. A mere moments after Darcy had led her back to her sister, she was approached by one of the local landowners.

"Miss Bennet, I see you are finally disposed to dance again. May I have the pleasure of the next?"

Aghast at the man's misinterpretation of the situation, Elizabeth opened her mouth to refuse, only to be interrupted by the sweet voice of her sister.

"Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Appleton. I'm sure Elizabeth would be vastly obliged to stand up with you for a set."

The man appeared somewhat nonplussed for a moment at the strange manner in which his offer had been accepted, but he nonetheless bowed and, thanking her, walked away.

"Jane-"

"No, Lizzy! You spend far too many of these assemblies standing around in a stupid manner when you should be dancing with the young men. You appeared to be content with your partner in the first dance at the very least, so why not continue to dance and have fun?"

"But, Jane, you remember what happened-"

"I do, Lizzy," Jane responded, not without compassion. "I also know that it is time you conquered your disappointment and began to live your life again. It is not right that you should live this half existence while that... that... _scoundrel_ who hurt you lives the high life."

Elizabeth was all astonishment as Jane's diatribe continued. She had never known her sister-her quiet, composed sister who would rather lose an arm than speak ill of another-felt this way about Elizabeth's determination to avoid the activity.

A moment later, she was engulfed in Jane's arms as her sister tried to impart what comfort she could. "Elizabeth, you must let this go. Do you think you are the only one who has ever been hurt by a man? I want my sister back-my sister who would laugh and dance the night away, amazing all the young man with her wit and intelligence. Can you be that girl again, Lizzy?"

A lump had formed in Elizabeth's throat, but she gamely released her sister from the embrace and smiled, although her smile could be said to contain a tremulousness she could not quite supress. "I shall try, Jane."

"Then that is all I can ask, Elizabeth," Jane responded, kissing her on the cheek. "Now, here comes Mr. Appleton. Go and enjoy yourself, and I shall see you after the set. I am engaged to dance the next with Mr. Goulding."

In a daze, Elizabeth was led to the dance floor, and soon she was immersed in the steps of the dance with her partner. He kept up an ongoing monologue, not seeming to require any answer beyond her occasional murmurs of agreement.

He was, she reflected, not the first choice she would have made in a dance partner, but he was also far from the worst. Mr. Appleton was the owner of an estate on the other side of Meryton, far enough away that he was not truly considered part of the community, but close enough that he was often included in the invitations to the gatherings of the area. He was a short, portly man, a widower of some years with no children and a seeming need for a wife to correct that unfortunate circumstance. In fact, there had been some speculation that he had admired Lizzy before _he_ had burst onto the scene, not that she would have ever considered a man more than twice her age. Still, he was kind and proper, and he provided her with the opportunity to consider her situation without having to pay particular attention to his conversation.

When the set was completed, he escorted her to the side of the room. He appeared to want to say something further but, for whatever reason, held his tongue and quit her company with a bow.

So began the night for Elizabeth Bennet. Now that she had been seen to have danced the first two sets, other men who would not have asked her, knowing her feelings on the subject, approached and asked for their own sets. Elizabeth, remembering her promise to the technically younger but frequently wiser Jane, acceded with as much grace as she could muster, all the while feeling that her previous ambivalence had not entirely left her. Still, it felt good to finally let go and allow herself to enjoy the moment, something which she had not done in many months.

* * *

For Charles Bingley, the night was everything he could have imagined it to be. The sights and sounds of the ballroom, so jarring for his friend Darcy, had always been somewhat comforting to the outgoing and gregarious master of Netherfield, and he reveled in the true pleasure that fine company and intelligent conversation could bring.

There was also the matter of his Jane-the girl with whom he was rapidly falling in love. Opening the dance with Jane had been pure bliss, and he had immediately taken the opportunity to solicit her hand for the supper dance as well as the final dance of the evening. Indeed, he would have secured them all had it been proper, but in the end he was well contented that the most important sets of the evening belonged to him.

But that did not end his campaign to win Jane over. No, there were other members of the family who were almost as important to his suit as winning the affection of his love. So, he made himself available to any and all Bennets, conversing with Mr. Bennet-though his conversation was rife with innuendo and sarcasm, which meant sometimes Bingley had difficulty following him-listening to Mrs. Bennet's ramblings, and complimenting Miss Mary on her dress. If the girl's rosy-cheeked response was any indication, she was pleased with his comments-he expected she did not receive much attention. He also reveled in the fact that he was considered familiar enough with the family to have the pleasure of Miss Kitty's hand for a set, and he was careful to lead her though the steps in such a fashion that no harm would befall her while she was under his protection.

But the true object of his campaign was to obtain the favor of Jane's closest sister, Miss Elizabeth. Seeing her engaged to dance the first dance with none other than his friend Darcy had been a shock, but upon considering it for a few moments, he determined this was likely just Darcy's way of completing his apology for his unkind statements. And really, he did not know what Darcy was thinking. Elizabeth did not, perhaps, possess the ethereal beauty of her elder sister Jane, but to say she was plain was simply wrong, and tonight, as she was dressed in her fine gown of the palest rose, Bingley had to admit that if he had seen Elizabeth before his dear Jane, he would have been tempted to fall in love with her instead.

Seeing Elizabeth dancing with Darcy and then with one of the local gentlemen, though, had been an unexpected but completely welcome boon to Bingley's design to win her favor. He was puzzled, as he was aware of the fact that she normally refused to dance, but he immediately put it out of his mind, thanking divine providence for the opportunity which had presented itself.

It appeared that other young men of the area had the same thoughts as Bingley, as she was soon besieged by requests, and Bingley felt fortunate to have secured her hand for the set before the supper dance. It was with great appreciation that he finally led her to the floor.

Their conversation began slowly, but Bingley was nothing if not adept at charming members of the opposite sex, and soon she was laughing at his comments and responding with arch looks and amusing anecdotes. Bingley was entranced-surely Darcy was out of his mind to be declaring this enchanting creature merely _plain!_ In fact, Bingley had a suspicion that Elizabeth Bennet would not only fill Darcy's need for a wife but also be a far better match for Darcy than...

But no-now was not the time for such thoughts. Darcy needed to come to his own conclusion about his marriage prospects. For now, Bingley was determined to focus on his own.

"Have you suddenly grown introspective, Mr. Bingley?"

Charles Bingley smiled at his charming partner. "Though I fight against introspection, I must admit it does affect me from time to time. Normally, I speak too much for my own good, though I am glad to say it is a flaw your dear sister does not seem to hold against me."

"Well, for someone who is without a flaw of her own, Jane does seem quite willing to overlook the foibles of others," teased Miss Elizabeth.

"She is an angel, isn't she?" agreed Bingley. He suddenly flushed. He had not meant to verbalize that thought.

"I am glad to hear you think so," said Miss Elizabeth amiably, making him pleased that the words had come out despite his intentions. "Your attentions to my sister have certainly been kind." He watched as she gave him a significant look, and he began to suspect it was her way of subtly telling him that she approved of his courtship of her sister. The thought made his heart leap in his chest-if he had the approval of the sister nearest to Jane Bennet's heart, then his chances with her were greater than he had allowed himself to hope.

He glanced across the room and noticed Darcy watching him and Elizabeth Bennet dance. The expression on Darcy's face could almost be termed a glare, and it puzzled Bingley to no end. As the evening progressed, Darcy's mood appeared to have been getting darker and darker. But what the reason could be for the frustration Darcy appeared to be feeling, well, Bingley did not know. The only conjecture he could make was that it was perhaps related to Darcy's general dislike of assemblies.

Miss Elizabeth saw his glance and gave Darcy one of her own. She appeared to be echoing his thought when she said, "I daresay your friend does not seem happy to be here."

"He seems to always avoid dancing at assemblies," commented Bingley. To himself, he thought, _In that, he seems to be similar to you, Elizabeth Bennet._ "I could barely believe my eyes when I saw you and him dancing the first set together."

Miss Elizabeth's cheeks colored, though Bingley wasn't quite sure of the reason for it. "Perhaps he is attempting to overcome his dislike of dancing," suggested she feebly.

"And are you doing the same?"

"I suppose I find it pleasant enough when with a kind partner," said she, smiling at him, "but I do not believe I will ever love the activity as most of my sisters do."

"You never know, Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps you simply have not yet found the proper partner."

She gave him a small smile. "Perhaps."

* * *

Darcy glared across the room at Bingley. He was smiling and laughing with Elizabeth Bennet, and they appeared to be having quite a happy time together. Granted, Darcy knew Bingley was smitten with Jane Bennet (despite her lack of fortune and the fact that she did not seem to completely return his infatuation), but he couldn't help but find himself annoyed anyway. Perhaps what was truly annoying him, however, was the fact that Elizabeth-_Miss_ Elizabeth-was dancing with so many men. It seemed as if every man in the whole blasted room was trying to dance with her!

Not that he wanted to dance with her again. Certainly, he did not wish to do that. He just believed the fact that men were dancing every set with Miss Elizabeth cheapened his initial victory to get her to dance with him. She was a challenge-that was all. Blast Bingley and those other men anyway! Blast them all!

He was fuming in this fashion when a nearby conversation accidentally caught his attention.

"Your eldest daughter certainly appears to have put the past behind her," commented Lady Lucas to Mrs. Bennet. "It was an utter shame that the young man left her to marry for money-she is such a wonderful girl."

Darcy had been about to turn his head to again look at Elizabeth Bennet, but here he froze. He had not realized that Jane Bennet had once had a serious suitor.

"We were all heartbroken," said Mrs. Bennet, sniffling a little. "We all had hopes that he had a little money of his own. But of course, it did not matter in the end."

Lady Lucas gave her a small smile. "Well, at least both Jane and Elizabeth appear to be doing well at this assembly."

Mrs. Bennet brightened. "Mr. Bingley certainly is a charming man, isn't he? And he certainly _does_ have a fortune of his own! He would be a great catch for my Jane! She is much more suited to Mr. Bingley than to Mr. Collins. Did you know that he proposed to her?"

"No, I did not know that."

"Of course, he does not have nearly as great a fortune as Mr. Bingley!"

Darcy's mouth formed a grim line. The situation his friend was in was worse than he thought. Not only did the young woman not seem to return Bingley's depth of feeling, but she was also a fortune hunter. She had turned down a perfectly reasonable proposal from someone suitable to her station in hopes that she could snag Bingley's wealth. Now, Darcy was in a bind. He had to figure out his friend's true feelings for the girl, and then he had to determine what course of action to take. He would not let Bingley become trapped in a loveless marriage. Bingley's heart was great, and such an arrangement would destroy him.

For the rest of the night, he was able to put Elizabeth Bennet out of his head. At least, he did not think about her again more than once or twice.


	22. Chapter XXII

**Previously:** Elizabeth spends the rest of the evening dancing. Bingley also dances with Elizabeth and receives her tacit approval for his suit. Darcy broods, seeing Elizabeth dancing with other men and overhears a conversation which causes him to mistakenly believe Jane is a fortune hunter.

* * *

**Chapter XXII**

"Blast it!" cursed Bingley as he failed yet again to hit one of the pheasants that were his target. His aim—never good—had been absolutely abysmal that morning.

Darcy's own mood was foul enough that he couldn't appreciate the fact that he himself had been an excellent shot that day. Despite his present luck in hunting, grouse and pheasants were far from being the object of his concentration; instead, what he could not stop thinking about was the previous night.

That Bingley was entranced by Jane Bennet... well, that was something of which Darcy had no doubt. But whether it was serious—or whether it was another one of Bingley's infatuations—was something Darcy could not quite figure out. He _believed_ Bingley was more partial to this young woman than any before her, but he was uncertain. Regardless of his friend's feelings, however, he was determined to keep the young man from being hurt. And to do that, he had to find out what exactly his friend's feelings _were_.

"Yours was a splendid shot, though, Darcy!" cried Bingley in admiration. He had been in a spectacularly buoyant mood all morning.

"Some of us do actually try to aim the gun," returned Darcy lightly.

Bingley chortled. "You are right, man. But it is no matter—I feel as if I could take on the world today!"

Seeing his opening, Darcy ventured: "And what precisely is the reason for such an ebullient mood?"

Bingley flushed. "Well—I doubt I have to tell you, Darcy, but I am absolutely captivated by Miss Jane Bennet."

"Indeed?"

"She is a wonderful girl, Darcy, and I have never felt quite like this before. She is very handsome, of course, and there is this innate goodness to her—why, I said just last night that Jane Bennet was an angel, and I meant it completely!"

As Bingley continued to wax poetic about Jane Bennet and grow even happier because of it, Darcy's mood began to grow even darker. To say his friend had fallen in love was akin to saying a tsunami only created a small splash. Bingley had at last let the dangerous claws of love entrench themselves in his heart. And he did not have even the inkling of an idea that the object of his utter admiration was someone who cared about the size of his pocketbook and not the size of his heart. It was up to Darcy to tear him away from the claws of the fortune hunter, though it pained him to know that his friend's sensitive heart would be bleeding for months afterward. If only he had paid more attention to Bingley and less to Miss Elizabeth, then perhaps he would have seen this company and managed the separation in a more timely manner!

He would have to remove Bingley from Hertfordshire. The Bennets were nothing but trouble. Darcy himself would benefit from leaving their society. He needed to put some distance between himself and Elizabeth Bennet. He had been facing female problems aplenty before arriving at Netherfield—it was what he had been trying to distance himself by coming to Netherfield in the first place, after all—and he did not need to add that intriguing and fiery woman to the mix. Two women made his life complicated enough without adding a third.

"Bingley," said Darcy in a serious and firm voice, "I think it is time we leave Hertfordshire."

"Leave Hertfordshire?" cried Bingley, stabbing the air with his gun. "Why, right now, that is the last thing in the world I should wish to do!"

"But it is the first thing in the world you should do," returned Darcy. "You must realize that Jane Bennet is poison to you—"

"Poison! Why, I should say instead that she is an elixir to my soul! Come, Darcy—what has gotten in to you?"

"I do not wish to hurt your feelings, Bingley. But I have been watching Miss Bennet, and she has never shown you any special favor."

At this, Bingley lowered his gun, faltering. "Darcy?" said he in soft voice. "Is this true?"

Darcy looked away, closing his eyes. "I wish I could give you a more favorable report. But she cares not for you. I'm—I'm sorry Bingley. If you proposed to her, I am certain she would say yes—but I also know that she would never be allowed to refuse a proposal, regardless of whether she wanted it or not."

Trembling, Bingley stared at Darcy. Finally, he lifted his chin. "I cannot believe that Darcy. You are wrong. Jane Bennet, she—she cares for me."

As Darcy gazed back into the defiant face of his friend, he knew he could withhold the details of the conversation he had heard about Jane no longer. "Last night, I overheard something, Bingley. I learned that Jane Bennet once had another serious suitor—and he left her for a woman of fortune. I believe the experience to have jaded her, Bingley. And I know Mrs. Bennet will not let a similar opportunity escape her daughter's grasp. When Miss Bennet turned down a proposal from Mr. Collins—"

"She turned down a proposal?" cut in Bingley. "Darcy, surely you must realize this means I have hope—"

"No," said Darcy sharply. "You must realize her refusal had nothing to do with her feelings for you—rather, it is your money that she has her eye on."

"That—that is preposterous." Bingley seemed shaky and uncertain. "My Jane—Miss—" he took a breath, "Miss Bennet would not act that way."

In a quiet voice, Darcy told his friend: "I have watched her, Bingley. I wish you were right. But I have watched her. Her smile is not the smile of a woman in love. Her eyes do not dance like those of someone facing utter happiness. When she dances with you, she is merely dancing with another well-to-do suitor. My heart breaks for you, Bingley, but I refuse to stand idly by and watch you walk into a loveless marriage. Your heart is too sensitive for that."

"I—I need to go," muttered Bingley, looking as dazed and lost as Darcy had ever seen him. After dropping his gun, he began walking at a swift pace toward Netherfield. Darcy gestured to a servant to pick up the gun and then followed him.

Once they were inside, Georgiana saw them and frowned at the expression on Mr. Bingley's face. "Are you all right, Mr. Bingley?"

But he simply walked past her with the slightest of gesticulations and disappeared into a sitting room.

Georgiana turned to her brother. "Fitzwilliam, what is wrong with Mr. Bingley?"

Darcy looked after the young man, frustrated. He had to save his friend from the pain of falling any deeper in love with Jane Bennet. He turned to look at his sister. He hated to bring her into this, but he was desperate. And so, he began to explain what he had heard and what he suspected about Jane Bennet.

In Georgiana, he found a very willing co-conspirator. She even told him that she had suspected herself that Miss Bennet was a fortune hunter, and that only further solidified his resolve. They formed a plan to convince Bingley to come to London with them—and leave Jane Bennet behind.

At dinner that evening, Darcy asked, "Bingley, have you thought about what I said?"

Bingley's face—which had been somewhat listless—darkened. "I have, Darcy, and I am certain you are wrong."

"Mr. Bingley," began Georgiana softly, "I think my brother is right."

Mr. Bingley turned to Georgiana, and the look on his face pierced Darcy's heart.

Georgiana continued: "I am afraid I have been unable to see any particular regard from Miss Bennet toward you either." She looked down at her hands, her face full of sorrow. "I have been so sad for you, Mr. Bingley, as I know you are a man who can feel very deeply. But I do not believe Miss Bennet cares for you as you ought to be cared for. I stand with my brother on this issue. I believe she is only after your fortune."

Though Darcy knew his sister's words would hurt his friend, he was grateful for her speaking them. She had become such a kind young woman, and Darcy was proud of her. Turning to his friend, he pleaded: "Please, Bingley—listen to reason. Come with us to London. We must leave this place."

Bingley bit his lip and stared down at his right hand, which was clenched into a fist on the table. Tapping the bottom of his fist gently against the table and closing his eyes, he conceded: "I will return to London for a short time. I will stay through Christmas, and after that—well, I need some time to think."

"Bingley—" began Darcy.

"Please! Say no more. I need time to think about what I want, Darcy—about what I feel for Jane Bennet. I will leave, as you have asked me, and I will think about what you both have said. But other than that, I can make no promises."

Darcy dipped his head. "That is all I ask."


	23. Chapter XXIII

**Previously:** Darcy and Georgiana convince Bingley to go to London. They say they believe Jane Bennet is a fortune hunter who does not love Bingley.

* * *

**Chapter XXIII**

Though Bingley had agreed to go to London for a time, he was troubled at the thought of departing Hertfordshire without speaking a word to anyone. He went so far as to express as much to his friend.

"Darcy," said he, "I cannot simply leave like a thief in the middle of the night. I _will not _do that."

"I understand your concern, Bingley, but you must not go to Longbourn to take your leave. You need to break away cleanly-you require time to reflect on your circumstances. Seeing Miss Bennet could weaken your resolve to leave Hertfordshire."

Bingley buried his hands in his hair and then suddenly struck the armrests of his chair with his fists. He stood, his eyes flaring. "What do you suggest I do, Darcy?" cried he. "Wipe away all traces that I have ever been here? Hide my heart away in a cave?" He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath to calm himself, and then he sunk back into his chair. "I am sorry, friend, but I must tell them goodbye at the very least. I owe it to them."

"If you insist on a final communication with them, then write Mr. Bennet a letter," suggested Darcy at last. "Frankly, however, I would prefer you said nothing more to them at all."

Bingley shook his head and looked down at his hands. "It would not be right to leave without saying anything, Darcy. I have paid enough attention to Jane Bennet that to leave without any word would be improper-and unfair to her. I will not do it." He lifted his head and stared at his friend resolutely. In his eyes, behind the pungent sorrow of leaving Miss Bennet-and the fear of not truly being loved by her-was a slowly growing strength. Bingley had trusted his friend's judgment over his own since nearly the beginning of their acquaintance, lacking a complete confidence in himself due to his extreme modesty, but something was changing. _He_ was changing.

And perhaps Darcy knew it, as he closed his eyes in acceptance. "Very well. Write a letter to Mr. Bennet, if you must. I will not try to stop you."

And so, despite the obvious reluctance of his friend, Bingley composed a letter to Mr. Bennet. In it, he announced his plan to return to town. He was, however, very careful to state that he was going to London with every intention of returning. Had he shown the letter to his friend, then Darcy might have disapproved, but Bingley wrote the letter on his own, asking for no help at all. He might have gone through a dozen drafts-each of them splotched with the ink of hesitancy and the occasional fuzzy word due to a shaky hand-and his final letter may have not been entirely without its blemishes, but at last it was done. The letter was sent. Not long after its departure, Bingley, Darcy, and Georgiana left for London.

* * *

Whenever an interesting letter came to Mr. Bennet, he usually teased his family with the knowledge of its existence at mealtime before finally reading it to them and providing his opinion on it. At the appearance of the letter from Mr. Bingley, however, Mr. Bennet's epistle-sharing was much more subdued. He was aware of the solemnity of the occasion.

No one said anything as he divulged the contents of the letter, and when he was at last quiet, so were the females of his family for a handful of seconds.

Mrs. Bennet was the first to break the silence, wailing suddenly, "How could he leave my poor daughter? My dear Jane!"

As her father had read the letter, Elizabeth's anger had grown. How could Mr. Bingley do this to Jane? He had paid his addresses to her in an unmistakable fashion. For him to pull out now was almost like when-

She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was not going to make this about herself. It was about Jane. Jane was the one who was hurting right now.

Elizabeth turned to her dear sister, and her heart began to break as she saw the tears in Jane's eyes. Jane was trying to fight them, but it was a losing battle.

"Jane-" said Elizabeth uncertainly. What could she say to make this better?

"Lizzy," returned Jane in a whisper. She tried to lift her chin up-to put on a brave front-but she was unable to fool her twin. She was absolutely miserable.

Elizabeth stood and moved to enclose her sister in a hug. "Jane," said she softly, "he may return. In fact, I think he wanted us to know he will-he leaves the option open. Surely a man as much in love as Mr. Bingley will return to the one he cares for as soon as he can. I _know_ he cares for you, Jane." They were weak words, but they were all she had to give.

Jane shook her head. "Lizzy, what if he does not?"

Elizabeth looked at her trembling sister's pale face, wishing she knew how to offer some comfort. But nothing she could say would change the fact that Mr. Bingley was going to London. It did not bode well for the relationship between him and Jane. That was unmistakable.

"Oh, la! Jane, there are plenty of officers who would like to dance with you," scoffed Lydia. "I would not worry about Mr. Bingley. He was not _that_ handsome anyway."

Kitty, who had been quiet up to this point, shot to her feet. "Be quiet, Lydia! Mr. Bingley is a man of substance-he is worth a hundred of your precious _redcoats_!"

"That is not true!" insisted Lydia. "The officers are fine men! And besides, you cannot see what Mr. Bingley looks like anyway. You _are _blind, after all!"

"Lydia!" snapped Elizabeth. "Kitty! Stop it, girls!"

"Yes, please do not fight," moaned Mrs. Bennet. "I do not think my nerves can take any more of this!"

Lydia sent a vicious glare toward Kitty, who could of course not see it. Then, Lydia flounced out of the room without a word.

Jane slowly got to her feet. She muttered something about not feeling well and disappeared out the door as well. Elizabeth watched after her for a second before bringing her eyes up to meet her father's. Mrs. Bennet was wailing very loudly at that point, so nothing anyone said could be heard, but the sad look she and her father exchanged spoke volumes. They both knew how sensitive Jane was. And they both knew that the likelihood that Mr. Bingley would return was not great. He was probably gone forever.


	24. Chapter XXIV

**Previously:** Bingley writes a letter to Mr. Bennet saying he is returning to London and will eventually return. The Bennet family is saddened by the receipt of this letter.

* * *

**Chapter XXIV  
**

Time passed quickly, but not quickly enough. Mrs. Bennet was rushing about making wedding preparations, and as a result, there was no peace at Longbourn. If Mrs. Bennet was not exclaiming over ribbons, then she was cooing over food; if she was not cooing over food, then she was poring over seating charts. There would be absolutely nothing missing or out of place at the wedding of her daughter - no one doubted that. Not a member of Mary's immediate family...nor any of the neighbors to whom Mrs. Bennet exulted the match.

Mr. Bennet found it amusing. He would inquire as to one aspect of the wedding and then watch as his wife fell over herself to explain all the details of that aspect. Though Elizabeth enjoyed examining the foibles of others as her father did, it hurt her to see him pull the strings of her mother like some sort of pitiable marionette.

Lydia could care less about Mary's marriage - "He is simply so _boring_! He is not exciting like the officers!" - while Kitty and Jane chose to be happy for Mary. Mary herself was pleased with all the attention, and Elizabeth was glad that at least Mary would have this time to look back on. Elizabeth was still unconvinced that this was the best choice for her sister, but she would not stand in Mary's way.

The bright spot in it all for Elizabeth was that the Gardiners were coming for the wedding. She relished every chance she got to see them. She only wished it were for something other than the wedding of the detestable Mr. Collins.

One day, Elizabeth was going into her room to get away from her mother's preparations when she stopped in the hallway. She could hear the faint sound of sobbing.

Upon opening the door, she saw Jane seated by the window, her back to the door.

"Jane," whispered Elizabeth.

"Lizzy," returned Jane in a shaky voice. She did not turn around. It was obvious she did not want her twin to see her.

But Elizabeth came forward nonetheless after shutting the door. She touched her sister's shoulder, encouraging her to turn around.

With reluctance, Jane turned, revealing red eyes and a tear-stained face. Elizabeth immediately pulled her into a hug, and Jane started sobbing anew.

"Oh, Jane," whispered Elizabeth, stroking her sister's back. "I am sorry."

"This is - is s-silly of me," managed Jane through her tears. "But I - I miss him, Lizzy. What if Mr. Bingley never comes back from London? What if he is gone for good?"

Elizabeth pulled back and looked her sister in the eyes. "He probably just had some business, Jane," said Elizabeth reassuringly. "He wrote a letter specifically to us announcing his intentions, remember? That is a good sign!" She tried to infuse her voice with confidence, but it was hard to be completely convincing. Not when her dear sister had been reduced to this wretched state.

"Lizzy," spoke Jane softly, her chest still shaking with her sobs.

"There is still hope. Do not lose hope in him, Jane. Why, if you were to lose hope, then I should think the world was ending!" Elizabeth tried to smile, but her heart was breaking for her twin. She embraced Jane again, and Jane worked on calming her breathing.

Finally, Jane was able to say, "I want to hope, Lizzy. Truly, I do. But I do not know if I can. I thought - " Her voice broke, but she began to speak again. "I thought Mr. Bingley had feelings for me, but now I must question my own observations. What if - what if he never did have feelings for me that way, and he just realized it? What if he does not really intend to return to Netherfield?"

"He will return," said Elizabeth with a firmness that almost convinced herself. "The esteemed Mr. Bingley would not simply leave you behind without a second glance. You are a treasure, Jane. And if somehow he failed to see that - well, perhaps he is not the man you thought he was." She gave her sister one last hug and then tugged at her hand. "Come, Jane. Dry your eyes. I think our mother may need your help deciding between two ribbons."

Jane gave a half-smile. "Lizzy, I am sure she does not need my assistance."

"And I am quite certain she does," returned Elizabeth. "I believe she was saying, 'If only my dear Jane were here to tell me which of these two ribbons is of better quality! Why, I believe she is a master ribbon-chooser, and I do not know what I will do without her help!'"

Jane shook her head at her twin's silliness, but her half-smile had become a real smile. "I promise I will be out soon, Lizzy. But I should think Lydia would be the one to turn to for advice on choosing ribbons."

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow. "Did my dear Jane just make a joke at the expense of another? Perhaps the world is ending!"

Jane laughed. "Thank you, Lizzy. I will try to hold on to hope. Perhaps I will see him after Christmas!"

"Exactly! And perhaps in a year the two of you shall be married! Though I should hate to see how wretchedly loving your children would be."

"Lizzy!"

Elizabeth smirked. "You two kind souls were meant to be together. Even if Mr. Bingley is perhaps a little dense at times."

Jane rolled her eyes. "You can go now, Lizzy."

"My sister is dismissing me? Why, that is a first!"

But Elizabeth, laughing, left the room nonetheless. It heartened her to hear her sister's chuckle from the hallway. Still, her thoughts darkened as they turned to Mr. Bingley. He had better turn out to be as kind of a soul as he had seemed. If he shunned Jane, he would receive no quarter from Elizabeth. Jane might have been willing to forgive him in a heartbeat - even if her heart broke in the process - but Elizabeth was not the same kind of person as her twin. Even if propriety dictated that she be kind to Mr. Bingley no matter what, Elizabeth would exhibit no good will toward him if he split Jane's heart asunder. Elizabeth would be Jane's protector - for Jane could not do it herself. She would not call him out for a duel even if she could as a woman - amusing though the thought was - but she could be as cold as a sunless winter day.

Why had he left Hertfordshire, anyway? Did he _want_ to break Jane's heart? She certainly hoped not. She did not want to think he was such a man as that. Surely, there had to be a reason for his departure. If only she knew what it was!


	25. Chapter XXV

**A/N:** It's Sillimaure and I'm back! Thanks to Deja for holding down the fort while I was gone.

**Previously:** Mrs. Bennet frenetically prepares for Mary's wedding, while Elizabeth comforts Jane over Bingley's departure.

* * *

**Chapter XXV**

The day of Mary's wedding dawned bright and sunny, yet with a distinct chill in the air, as befitted mid-December. The environs of Longbourn were decked with the beauties of the season—hoarfrost coated the trees, and little wisps of snow clung to the ground where they had blown, lending the manor house a festive air, as though approving of the first match of the Bennet daughters. And the irony was lost on no one—plain Mary, ignored by her mother and the young men of the area in favor of her more beautiful sisters, would be the first of them to marry.

For Elizabeth, it was a day filled with contradictions, both within and without. She was happy she had been able to save Jane from the ignominy of a match with the idiot Collins, yet she was in some way disappointed with her younger sister's choice. That Mary actually wanted this union was somewhat comforting, regardless of Elizabeth's doubts about whether Mary could ever truly be happy with Mr. Collins. They were similar in temperament and interests, to be certain, but surely having such an odious and disagreeable man for a husband would wear on anyone, regardless of their outward compatibility. And despite whatever else she was, Mary was certainly not stupid—intellectually, they were not a good match at all, as Elizabeth suspected Collins would end up competing with a rock for the greater share of sense and intelligence.

Yet Elizabeth was also sensible of the great benefit brought to her family by means of this marriage. Her mother need never fret about being thrown into the hedgerows again, for with a daughter as mistress of Longbourn (and one whom Elizabeth suspected her mother considered easily controllable as a benefit), she would always have a place to live in her old age should the worst happen and Mr. Bennet succumb to his poor health.

It was with these thoughts that Elizabeth woke, and she immediately began to prepare for the day. She completed her toilette quickly and efficiently and, throwing on an old dressing gown, made her way to her sister's room to help her prepare. Mrs. Bennet was already fussing and fidgeting, nervous that everything should proceed as planned on this most important day. But by deflecting her attention to some other imaginary task which needed completing, Elizabeth was able to convince her that Elizabeth herself was well able to see to Mary's preparations with the maid's assistance.

Their preparation time was completed in a companionable fashion. They spoke of inconsequential topics as Elizabeth fussed with Mary's hair with the help of the maid. Elizabeth had promised herself that she would ensure Mary's appearance was stunning on this, her wedding day, displaying to all that the quietest and plainest of all Bennet daughters was as pretty and desirable in her own right as any of her sisters.

She had finished with the elegant twist of Mary's hair and had begun to curl the ringlets which would frame her face when Mary glanced up at her, a rarely seen look of determination on her features.

"Lizzy, I want to thank you for all you have done for me," she began, a hint of emotion coloring her usually calm voice. "I appreciate the way you have always taken care of all of your younger sisters—and that you are standing up with me on my important day."

That had been another surprise—Elizabeth had not had any idea her sister looked up to her so much, and the request to be Mary's bridesmaid had astonished her greatly.

"Mary, you are my sister, and I love you. There is nothing more to be said, no more accolades to impart—I have done only what any other would do."

"I believe you underestimate your importance to this family, Lizzy, but I thank you nonetheless. You made me feel like a worthwhile member of this family when our mother had openly disparaged my attractions before the world."

Her face took on a mischievous smile as she continued. "Part of me cannot help but smile and gloat over the fact that _I_ shall be married before mother's favorites."

Elizabeth's raised eyebrow caused a small laugh. "Oh, I have nothing against my sisters, Lizzy—indeed, Jane is as sweet and angelic as everyone constantly proclaims. She bears Mama's proclamations with forbearance and poise. Lydia... well, of course, she is a different matter altogether. I fear for her, Lizzy. She shall not end well if she is continually indulged and spoiled as she has been."

"I fear you are correct," responded Elizabeth somewhat reluctantly. "However, as you well know, Mama will not hear anything against her, and Papa cannot be bothered to check her. Until one of them comes to their senses, there is little any of us can do."

They lapsed into a brief silence while Sara, the maid, completed the final touches on Mary's hair. Elizabeth stepped back and admired their handiwork, reflecting that Mary looked very nice indeed. With the effect completed by the modest yet pretty ivory dress which had been procured for the occasion, Elizabeth was certain nobody would be making comparisons concerning the various levels of physical attractions between the Bennet sisters.

She allowed a tender expression to settle over her face as she admired her younger sister. "Truly, Mary, you look very well indeed—you shall be the most beautiful of all brides on your special day."

"Thank you, Lizzy," was Mary's reply as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. "You have always been so good to me, even to the point of worrying for me, concerned I have made a mistake."

Elizabeth began to object, but she was waved off by her sister. "Do not attempt to deny it, Lizzy. I know you do worry about it, and I love you for it. Be not concerned about me, Lizzy—I am entering this with my eyes wide open and fully understand what I am about. I know you and Papa do not have any respect for Mr. Collins' mental capacity, and I am afraid I must concur that he is not the cleverest of men."

Though she would have greatly appreciated the ability to snort in response, Elizabeth held herself in check, earning her a wry grin from her sister.

"Well, perhaps that was a slight understatement," continued Mary. "But I firmly believe that I am well suited to be Mr. Collins' wife, not only in temperament but also in interest. I am also convinced that any man may become a better man with the right woman by his side. As his wife, I may gently direct him in the manner which may see him grow into a better person. This is all without mentioning the assistance I am providing my family by virtue of this marriage. Surely you have noticed the change in Mama since my engagement."

"I have," responded Elizabeth slowly, thinking of the behavior of their mother. "I do not expect Mama will ever be quiet and introspective, but her exclamations and pronouncements have lost a little of their desperation and shrillness."

"They have," confirmed Mary with a smile. "I knew that _you_ of all people could not have missed it. Now, will you accept that I am content with my choice and be happy for me?"

"You know that I will," responded Elizabeth as she leaned over to give her sister a quick hug. "I wish you all the happiness in the world, Mary."

"That is well, Lizzy, for I have one more request to make of you."

Elizabeth's questioning gaze prompted her sister to continue. "I will be going into Kent today, and I doubt I shall return for some time, and I shall almost certainly find myself missing the company of my family—especially you, Lizzy. I have spoken with Mr. Collins, and he has agreed that I might extend an invitation to visit in the spring to help me adjust to life in my new situation. Will you come and visit me in March, Lizzy? I should feel so much better if I had your support and love to help me, especially when learning to deal with the infamous Lady Catherine."

The two sisters shared another laugh. "I do not doubt she will be a most attentive neighbor, sister," managed Elizabeth between chuckles.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Attentive is not exactly what I am expecting. Meddling sounds closer to the mark."

Elizabeth laughed again. "I most certainly shall come to visit you, Mary. I must admit to being very curious to meet the great lady, not to mention the glazing on the windows and the massive fireplace."

Mary again laughed, causing Elizabeth to join in, all the while as she silently wondered what else she had missed in her interactions with her family.

Later that morning, it was done, and her sister resigned the name of Bennet in favor of her new husband's name. It was a simple ceremony, yet effective, completely in keeping with Mary's character and preferences.

The wedding party then departed for Longbourn, and after the wedding breakfast, the newly married couple departed for Hunsford and Mary's new home.

The reaction of Mr. Collins upon learning that it was to be Elizabeth who would visit in the spring (apparently Mary had not specified exactly _who_ she wished to invite) was an amusing contrast. His initial reaction was one of disapproval, but after he glanced at his new wife with an expression that clearly showed he wished to avoid offending her mere hours after their marriage, he directed an unctuous look in Elizabeth's direction. Then he asked Mary if she was certain it should be Elizabeth. Perhaps inviting Jane would be better.

Elizabeth stiffened, suspecting his primary motive was that he wanted to avoid meeting the woman who had ruined his chances with the most beautiful Bennet sister—and that his secondary motive was his desire for the opportunity to ogle said sister at his own pleasure.

But Mary was adamant, and to Hunsford Elizabeth was to go. She only prayed the trip would be as interesting and pleasant as she could hope—and that Mr. Collins would not hold on to his resentment of her interference.


	26. Chapter XXVI

**Previously: **Mary marries Mr. Collins and assures Elizabeth she knows what she is getting into. They also extend an invitation for Elizabeth to come visit them at Hunsford.

* * *

**Chapter XXVI**

The Bennet household did not change much with Mary's absence. Lydia still chattered constantly about redcoats, Mrs. Bennet still complained continually about her nerves, and Mr. Bennet still remained hidden in his library from the rest of the family.

Elizabeth was sad that she had to lose one of her sisters to the wretched Mr. Collins, but she had Christmas to look forward to, and that lifted her spirits. They were to go to London to spend the holiday with the Gardiners, and Elizabeth much desired the change of scenery. Presently, Longbourn reminded her of three men she would rather not think about-Mr. Collins, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy-and she was always glad to spend quality time with her kind relatives. With the commotion around Mary's wedding and the endless tasks her mother had found for each of them to do, Elizabeth had not been able to talk to them very long when they had visited for the blessed event, though her aunt had seemed anxious to talk to her.

At last, after what had seemed like an interminable wait-though it was in reality a mere three days-the twentieth of December arrived, and the Bennets left for London. Winter travel did not particularly agree with Elizabeth, and as it was a cold Friday, she spent much of the ride bundled under blankets and reading a book, wishing for the journey to be completed. But though she was occupied with trying to follow her book, it was impossible not to notice that all Jane seemed to do was stare out the window. Elizabeth felt terrible about her sister's heartache, but what was she to do? Either Jane would have to get over her feelings and disappointment for Mr. Bingley's departure, or the man would return. But Jane would not face it alone-Elizabeth determined to be there for her sister, as they had always done for one another.

When they finally arrived in London, they were welcomed warmly by the Gardiners. Their house was on an important London thoroughfare, and although it was not the largest house or in the most fashionable part of town, it was quiet and comfortable, tastefully decorated, and welcoming to all who entered.

It did not take long for Mrs. Gardiner to find Elizabeth after she had arrived and take her aside to speak in private.

"Lizzy," said Mrs. Gardiner, looking concerned, "is Jane ill? She appears pale and withdrawn-she looks even worse than she did at the wedding."

Elizabeth could not help but sigh. "I do not believe she is doing well at all, though she is not sick. She has had her heart broken by a man we were all certain she would marry. I think it has only made it worse that she has been able to hold on to the hope that it will work out."

"What do you mean, Lizzy?"

"Well, Mr. Bingley left abruptly for London, though I dare say it might have been better for us all if he had gone to Spain instead. Who knows what poor Jane is going through simply by knowing they are in the same city."

"He left abruptly, you say?"

Elizabeth nodded. "He did not even make a farewell visit. He simply wrote a letter to Papa saying that he was leaving and would return. But I do not know if intends to come back at all!"

"Poor Jane! She has too tender of a heart for someone to abandon her like this. Perhaps this Mr. Bingley will return after all!"

"If this is how he handles a trip to London, then perhaps it would be better if he did not come back at all," said Elizabeth, her eyes flashing. "I want Jane to be happy, but if this is his normal behavior, then maybe she should not be with him after all."

"Oh, Lizzy," said Mrs. Gardiner gently, "I think you are allowing your frustration with the man to make you peevish. If Jane has feelings for him, then I am sure he is a nice young man."

"That is what I thought initially, but now I am not so certain." Elizabeth sighed. "But maybe you are right. There could have been a very good reason for him to have left as he did. I suppose we shall find out sooner or later. But for now, I cannot help but dislike the thought of him!"

As the days passed, Jane remained despondent. Elizabeth and Kitty attempted to cheer her up, their behavior ranging from silly to kind as they tried to make her smile, but they did not appear to have much success in lifting her spirits.

The behavior of Lydia and Mrs. Bennet in London was predictable. Lydia bemoaned the lack of officers to flirt with, whereas Mrs. Bennet lamented Mr. Bingley's departure to London. Mrs. Bennet was particularly satisfied to have a new audience for her complaints.

Though they were frequently busy, Elizabeth found herself with a lot of time to think. One object of her thoughts was Mary's wedding. She still could not believe that the odious Mr. Collins was now her brother-in-law! The thought was enough to make her shudder.

Another item to which her mind kept returning was Mr. Bingley. She simply could not understand how a man who had seemed so kind could be so thoughtless! Was there a good reason for his departure to London? And was he going to return, as her aunt had hoped?

And finally, she kept thinking about Mr. Darcy.

The harder she tried not to think about him, the more she did. He was an enigma to her.

He had been averse to dancing with anyone at his first ball in Hertfordshire-or so she had heard-and then he had actually been kind enough to dance with Kitty! Later, he had called Elizabeth "rather plain" when speaking to Mr. Bingley, only to sincerely apologize and explain himself after he realized she had heard him. And finally, when he had asked for her first dance at the Netherfield ball, it had been enough to shock her beyond belief. Then, to crown it all off, he had requested a second dance of her, while appearing to hardly understand what he was doing himself! He was contradictory and confusing, not the confident and composed young master of a great estate which she had expected him to be. Or at least, he was with her-sometimes he had acted like a suitor, and other times a cad. She could not figure him out.

She had been so certain that he was disgusted by all of Hertfordshire society-and she had included herself in that number. But there had been indications otherwise. Was it simply that he was a shy man who was uncomfortable with the social requirements of his position in society? Or was there something hidden behind his pride that resembled a caring human being?

She did not know how to react to him, and as someone who studied character, that was enough to make her very unsettled.

Elizabeth resolved to put Mr. Darcy out of her thoughts for a while. And she soon heard some very pleasant news indeed. Since her father disliked London-and since Lydia was more interested in chasing redcoats than experiencing London society-he was going to leave with his wife and Lydia to return to Longbourn on December 28. Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty were to stay with the Gardiners.

Now, one would have thought Lydia would feel slighted by the thought of the invitation being extended to all her sisters and not to herself. But she unfortunately had no room in her head for such thoughts, as her mind was full of nothing more than men in red coats. Beyond that, her sisters were certain that she was eager to have the attention of their parents (or, more specifically, their mother) all to herself, without Jane's beauty, Elizabeth's cleverness, or everyone's protective instincts toward Kitty as competition. Lydia was certainly one who basked in the spotlight.

Christmas Day passed very happily for Elizabeth when she realized she and her two favorite sisters would be able to relax a little more. They loved their mother and Lydia, but the two could be rather tiresome at times.

And since Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner enjoyed having their nieces with them, it was an arrangement that was pleasurable for all. They began making plans for what they would do the next week, and that included going to an opera for which there had been very positive reviews.


	27. Chapter XXVII

**Previously:** The Bennets spend Christmas with the Gardiners as Kitty and Elizabeth try to cheer Jane up. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet leave early with Lydia to go back to Longbourn, which enables Kitty, Elizabeth, and Jane to spend more time with the Gardiners. Elizabeth cannot help but continue to think about Mr. Darcy.

* * *

**Chapter XXVII**

As expected, the Gardiner and Bennet party grew even closer with the departure of Mr. Bennet, his wife, and his youngest daughter. Without a doubt, life at the Gardiner townhouse certainly became quieter and more sedate without the theatrics of Mrs. Bennet and the loud complaints of Lydia.

Their lives settled into a comfortable routine, as Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty would assist Mrs. Gardiner with the children, amusing and playing with them when they were not at their lessons, and would help with her morning calls. In exchange, the Gardiners fairly doted on their nieces, ensuring the young ladies' stay was as pleasant as they could possibly make it. Even Jane began to show signs of coming out of her melancholy, for who could continue to be down when the comfort and confidence subsisting between those sharing the highest affection existed to lighten the spirits of the company? She still had moments of quiet and somewhat sad reflection, but on the whole, Elizabeth was pleased with how she was emerging from her disappointment.

Their planning for the upcoming opera had also taken up much of their time, with much of the conversation between the ladies consisting of what they would wear and what it would be like to see and be seen. Mr. Gardiner had spared no expense on this occasion, being certain to obtain the use of a box for the night. None of them had ever seen an opera from the comfort and excellent vantage provided by a box, and all were looking forward to the experience. Even Kitty, who unfortunately would not be able to see the actors, felt that the acoustics of the theater must necessarily enhance the quality of the music, and she found herself looking forward to delighting in the wonderful strains of music she would hear.

Of course, the aforementioned Mr. Gardiner, doting upon his wife and nieces as he did, had to put up with constant discussions of fabrics, lace, and jewelry, being as he was the only man in the house. He managed himself admirably, allowing the ladies their excitement with many a fond smile, even as he sought the comfort and sanctuary of his study when he found the talk too much for his taste. More than once, he wondered at his brother Bennet, who must put up with this talk as a matter of course, finding new respect for the man. At least, Gardiner reflected, he himself had sons.

Finally, the day of the opera arrived, and once the preparations had been completed, the party climbed into the Gardiner carriage, eager for the evening's entertainments to begin. It was a tight fit for the five of them in the carriage, but they managed and passed the time during their journey with a great deal of humor.

The opera house was amazing to the young girls who had never visited it before-their usual opera house was not as fine or as large as the one which they entered on that night. The sights and sounds of the building, the cream of British society all gathered together-it was all enough to take the girls' breaths away.

They lingered in the lobby for only a short time before making their way up to the box, as the opera was due to start in a short time.

Their experience on that evening was beyond anything that they had been subjected to previously, beyond anything they could have imagined. Each in her own way felt profoundly impressed by what was witnessed. As they had expected, the sound and sight of the players was far superior to anything they had seen in their normal opera house, and it was better by far than sitting in the rows of seats in front of the stage.

Indeed, so impressed were they that-even without other events to make the evening memorable-it was truly a night to be remembered. However, other events did intrude upon the company which were to have an effect on the Bennet sisters in particular.

During the first intermission, the party descended to the lobby to partake of refreshment and escape from the box a few moments. As they stood speaking of the performance, Elizabeth happened to notice a man looking at her with some interest. He was dressed finely, certainly in the expensive type of dress she would expect to see on a member of the peerage. He was tall and handsome, if one did not consider the haughty air in which he held himself and the way he stared. Elizabeth was made uncomfortable by the scrutiny.

She looked away and attempted to put the man from her mind by conversing with her sisters. A few more moments had passed before her uncle was approached by an acquaintance. They were introduced to a Mr. Sykes, who owned an estate in Surrey and who, although he was a gentleman, had done some business with Mr. Gardiner to his very great benefit. It was but a few moments later when the rich man Elizabeth had noticed earlier approached the party and spoke thus:

"Sykes, so good to see you this evening. We have not met in several months, unless I miss my guess."

Though Elizabeth thought she detected a certain hesitance in her new acquaintance's air, Mr. Sykes betrayed none of it, instead welcoming his friend in like fashion.

The man then looked directly at Elizabeth and requested-and was granted-an introduction.

"Of course, Trenton. May I introduce a friend and business associate of mine, Edward Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner, my neighbor Lord Alastair Trenton, Earl of Winchester."

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Trenton," responded Mr. Gardiner, extending his hand.

"Always delighted to make an acquaintance of my good friend Sykes," replied Trenton, grasping Gardiner's hand. "Will you do me the honor of introducing your lovely companions?"

The introductions were then made, and Trenton greeted the party affably and then entered into conversation with the two other men while the ladies continued to discuss their impressions of the opera.

Soon after, Elizabeth noticed the earl paying particular attention to her. He unobtrusively excused himself from the conversation with her uncle and approached, his eyes taking her appearance in frank appraisal. Elizabeth was made uncomfortable by his expression, but she gamely smiled as he approached.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I thank you, sir," responded Elizabeth politely.

"I understand from your uncle that your father's estate is quite close to London?"

"Yes, indeed, it is. I am from Hertfordshire, and my father's estate is not more than twenty miles from town."

"And your father? I must admit that I am familiar with most of the prominent landowners and peers in the kingdom, yet I do not recall ever hearing of the name  
'Bennet.'"

"My father's estate is not large, sir," said Elizabeth, beginning to feel annoyed with the probing questions this man seemed intent upon making. "We are not related to anyone of the peerage, so I am not surprised that you do not know of us."

His face lit up with a supercilious smirk at her response, and Elizabeth felt her opinion of the man, which had not been high to begin with, enter a downward spiral, a situation which was only to become worse.

"I see," said he with a leer. "In that case, perhaps you would permit me to invite you to my box, so we may become better... acquainted."

"You are inviting my party to your box?" asked she, surprised.

"No, I think you mistake my meaning," was his response. "I wish to become better acquainted with you, Miss Bennet-my invitation was for you alone."

Elizabeth was repulsed and disgusted with this man's familiar and inappropriate invitations. "I am sorry, sir, but as you can see, I am here under the protection of my uncle. It would be inappropriate for me to view the rest of the play in your box."

"Ah, yes, my apologies," said Trenton. "I was entranced by your beauty, madam, and did not consider the impropriety of the suggestion. Perhaps I could attend you in your box?"

"For that, you would have to ask my uncle, Lord Trenton. Again, I am here with him and under his protection, and I cannot say what he would reply to such an application."

"Very well then," replied he negligently. "I can see you wish to concentrate on the production and not be distracted. I am happy to see that there are others who take true pleasure in the opera."

"I thank you, sir," said Elizabeth, offended by his supercilious manner.

"I fear, however, that I cannot allow you to leave tonight without some promise of our meeting again. Will you be so good as to tell me where your uncle's house is so that I may call upon you?"

The bell indicating the end of the intermission rang, and Elizabeth was grateful for the interruption. She curtseyed to the earl and begged his pardon.

"Pray, excuse me, sir-I must return with my party."

She left him, but not before catching a salacious expression on his face as she walked away. A shudder coursed through her at the thought of that cad's eyes affixed upon her, and she hurried her footsteps, eager to be away from his questing gaze and his leering eyes.

Back in the box, she fended off Jane's queries, saying she had not enjoyed her conversation with the earl, but telling little else. She did not want to worry her sister-or her aunt and uncle, for that matter-and instead focused her attention on the opera.

It was in the aftermath of the performance that the second event took place. The Gardiners and their nieces had exited the theater, their minds and conversation full of what they had seen, and they were waiting for their carriage when an acquaintance stumbled across their party.

The young man had been walking past when he glanced at them and stopped dead in his tracks, a look of shock etched upon his features.

"Miss Bennet!" exclaimed he.

"Mr. Bingley!" replied Jane, just as surprised as he was.

An awkward silence descended upon them, as neither Jane nor Mr. Bingley seemed to know what to say. Mrs. and Mrs. Gardiner peered at the pair with some interest as their carriage rolled to a stop in front of them.

"I hope-that is to say, I am very surprised to see you here," said Mr. Bingley finally.

"And I you," responded Jane's quiet voice.

"I hope you enjoyed the performance?"

"Yes, sir, it was very moving."

"Good. Excellent."

Silence descended over the group once again, and the Gardiners, seeing Jane's distress, began to shepherd their charges into the carriage. Jane directed one last longing look in Mr. Bingley's direction before entering the carriage and choosing a seat which hid her from view. The entire party moved inside the carriage, and in moments, they had departed, leaving a clearly discombobulated Bingley standing in the street, staring after them.

Elizabeth cursed their very ill luck-just as Jane had begun to come out of her melancholy, her erstwhile paramour had appeared to unsettle her, leaving her family to once more attempt to cheer her up. She would have to start again from the beginning.


	28. Chapter XXVIII

**Previously:** The Gardiners go with Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty to an opera, where Elizabeth meets Lord Trenton, a pushy man who singles her out and who she has no desire to know. After the opera, they run briefly into Mr. Bingley.

* * *

**Chapter XXVIII**

On the first of January, Bingley resolved that with the new year he should act like a new man. He had decided-first with trepidation and then with growing resolve-that Darcy had been wrong in his recommendation to spend an extended period of time away from Jane Bennet. When he had seen the young woman outside the opera, his heart had leapt within his chest, making him feel alive once more. Her mere presence was enough to fill him with such gladness that he knew without a doubt that their being together _couldn't_ be wrong. She was a gentleman's daughter and an angel!

Still, though his heart sang nothing but Jane Bennet's name, his head knew that he would have to maintain at least a modicum of objectivity. Though he would assert himself against following his friend's suggestion of distance, he would try to determine for himself whether it was true that Jane Bennet did not care for him-and whether she was a fortune hunter as both Darcy and his sister had claimed.

But even as his head reminded him to look for the signs of a woman interested only in material wealth, his heart protested that Jane Bennet was _too good_ to be wrapped up in such petty concerns. He was still baffled that the two Darcys could sincerely believe her to be so.

Bingley arrived at the Gardiners' residence in Cheapside with no small amount of nervousness. After his boorish behavior of departing Hertfordshire without taking his leave of Jane Bennet in person-she deserved more than just a letter to her father noting that Bingley was leaving-would she still have feelings for him? Or had she forgotten the time they had spent together?

He learned quickly that the Gardiners and Jane Bennet were out. His disappointment must have showed on his face, for the servant quickly reassured him that they would return soon and asked if he wished to see Elizabeth Bennet. He smiled-perhaps he would look upon Jane's dear face after all!-and agreed that it would be pleasant indeed to see Miss Elizabeth again.

As he joined Elizabeth, who was doing some needlework, she stood and curtseyed. But though she greeted him with the utmost propriety, there was a tightness around her eyes and mouth that made him swallow nervously. And then, after the servant had been gone for perhaps a minute, Elizabeth went and closed the door, and his unease grew tenfold.

With a frown, Bingley asked: "Miss-Miss Elizabeth?"

"I wish to have a private discussion with you, Mr. Bingley," explained she, turning to look at him with a hard gaze. My apologies if I appear to be too forward, but I simply cannot allow matters to continue on as they are. If you are here to break Jane's heart again, then you had best leave now, as I will not allow that to happen."

"Miss Elizabeth," protested he, "I have no intention-"

"She was crushed when you left," said Elizabeth Bennet flatly. "Perhaps I ought not tell you that, but there it is. Mr. Bingley, I need to know if your intentions are sincere-I need to know that you will not abandon her again. I am not aware of the reasons for your abrupt departure from Hertfordshire, but I ask you to take pity on my dear younger sister and cease calling on her at once if you are not serious in courting her."

"Younger sister?" asked Bingley in confusion, latching on to that simple phrase. His heart had skipped a beat. Elizabeth was the _oldest_ Bennet daughter?

The object of his thoughts gave him a strange look. "Yes. Jane and I are twins, but I am the elder by a few minutes."

Bingley turned away from her. He and Darcy had thought all along that Jane was eldest. If-if Darcy had heard someone speaking about one of the Bennet daughters being a fortune hunter, then it was utterly possible that _Elizabeth_ Bennet rather than _Jane_-dearest, loveliest, sweetest Jane!-had lost a suitor to someone more wealthy. Maybe they had not been talking about Jane at all!

With that hope, his heart began to sing louder, and he turned to Elizabeth Bennet-_Miss_ Bennet, as the eldest!-and told her with the most joyful of expressions on his face: "I have no intention of deserting your sister or breaking her heart, Miss Bennet." Not when Jane Bennet's heart seemed to be his-not when her close sister had nearly told him that much!

"You must understand, Miss Bennet," began he. "I needed some time to determine my own affection for your sister. But now-now, I feel it is firm! I wish to formally court her-to show her that I am a man who wishes her the greatest of happiness and who never wants to do her ill again." He bit his lip, his thoughts turning to Darcy. "So you do not believe me an utter monster, I must confess it was not wholly my decision to leave Hertfordshire. I was-I was influenced by someone who believed your sister did not feel for me as you say she does."

"Pardon me, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth with a hint of steel in her voice, "but I do not believe you should allow the beliefs of others to direct and determine the course of your life. If you wish to maintain an estate, much less a family, then it will be necessary for you to learn to make your own decisions."

Bingley felt his face flame in guilt and embarrassment, but he knew her censure was deserved. "I assure you, Miss Bennet, I have reached that realization myself, and I refuse to let anyone dissuade me any longer. I-I care for your sister, and I wish to prove it."

Elizabeth Bennet stared at him, her face still hard and almost frightening. But then it softened into a smile, and she walked over to the door to open it in anticipation of the eventual return of her relatives. "I am glad to hear that, Mr. Bingley. You are a good man. I apologize for my unseemly questions and my impertinence in questioning your motives. I merely desired to ensure we both understood what your purpose was in coming here."

"I understand, Miss Bennet."

They sat and conversed in a more pleasant fashion, and before long, Jane Bennet had arrived, and Bingley was standing and smiling at her so much it felt he might burst.

She seemed shy to be the focus of his attention, but within only a few minutes, they were completely engrossed in conversation with each other. When he finally had to take his leave with reluctance, he shot a smile at Elizabeth, who nodded at him in understanding and approval.

Now that he had seen Jane Bennet again, there was one thing about which he was certain.

Jane Bennet cared for him!


	29. Chapter XXIX

**A/N:** We have decided we would begin posting one chapter _each_ per week. Therefore, Wednesday and Sunday are now our posting nights.

Also, one reviewer also mentioned the shortness of the chapters. We are trying to write this in Jane Austen's style, which means short chapters, and generally one scene per chapter. As a result, you get more frequent updates, but less content—unfortunately, that is the trade off.

**Previously:** Mr. Bingley visits Gracechurch Street and finds only Elizabeth at home. She takes him to task for leaving Jane behind and tells him to leave if he means to harm her.

* * *

**Chapter XXIX**

"Good day to you, Darcy!" Bingley exclaimed as he stepped into Darcy's study.

Darcy could see his friend was in excellent spirits, which, of course, was his usual state of mind despite this past month. His grin extended from ear to ear, and he was whistling—Bingley, who had no talent for music whatsoever, was actually whistling!—as he flung himself on a chair in front of Darcy's desk.

Darcy had been anticipating this visit—dreading it, actually—although he had half expected his friend to be devastated by rejection. But Bingley was not discerning enough to see through another's deception, which was why Darcy made it his business to take care of him. He should have foreseen this outcome.

"Am I to suppose you have visited Miss Jane Bennet as you had planned?"

"Indeed, I have, old man," Bingley confirmed with an ebullience which Darcy had come to expect in his manner.

He spoke no further, merely whistling his jaunty tune—which was completely unrecognizable—and slouching in his seat as though he had not a care in the world, all the while smirking across the desk at his friend. _This_ was truly a side of Bingley which Darcy despised—he could be unbelievably smug when he felt he was right, and he seemed to take perverse delight in forcing Darcy to extract his news rather than offering it up himself.

Passing a hand over his face and praying for patience, Darcy glared at his friend. "And? What was the result, as though I did not already know?"

"What has happened? Can you not guess, man?"

"I can guess what you _think_ has happened, but unless you tell me, I doubt I shall truly know."

"Oh, Darcy, I do declare you can be so annoyingly pompous at times," exclaimed Bingley.

"And you can be annoyingly disposed to approve of all that you meet and take them at face value. You know what I think of your little mission today, Bingley, and unless you capitulate and tell me exactly what happened, I shall continue to think of you as a simpleton and expect that you are once again being taken in."

Bingley snorted and arose from his chair, crossed to the side table, and poured two glasses of Darcy's excellent port. Handing one to his friend, he sat himself back down in his chair, sipping from his glass in an almost distracted manner. It was all Darcy could do not to rail at his companion—why could he not come to the point?

"If you wish to know how it went this morning, then I shall tell you. It went very well indeed, Darcy, and I am now thoroughly and utterly convinced that not only does Jane Bennet return my affections with equal measure, but that I was a fool to listen to you and Georgiana when you recommended I quit Hertfordshire altogether. I am very happy to tell you that I was completely correct and justified in my words to you this morning."

Darcy scowled at the reminder of their words from that very morning and the resolution Bingley had engaged in once again seeking Jane Bennet out.

* * *

Darcy stood by the fireplace of his study, listening to his friend rant. Bingley's encounter with Jane Bennet at the opera had apparently made a very strong impression on him, given the manner in which he was now expressing himself to his friend. After weeks of believing his friend had been rescued from the clutches of that family, all Darcy's work had been done with a single short meeting at an opera. What a thing to have happened at a time like this!

"I am telling you, Darcy, she appeared to be as miserable as I have been since I have separated myself from her."

"But how can you be certain? She may simply have been suffering from some indisposition which has nothing to do with your departure."

"And this from a man who was not even there to see her! I am telling you, Darcy, she cares for me!"

Massaging his temples in frustration, Darcy took a deep breath and regarded his friend, desperately seeking some way to dissuade Bingley from this disastrous course which he was contemplating. The man simply had no concept of the wiles some women would take to secure themselves a comfortable situation—particularly a lady with as little means as Jane Bennet. Bingley was a prime target for one such as she, and his naturally open and friendly nature was such that he was not suspicious of the motivations of others. He simply must make Bingley see sense!

"Bingley, I have told you what I heard and what I have seen, She is using you to secure your fortune and obtain a comfortable position, and regardless of her feelings, you know as well as I that she would not be allowed to refuse an offer of marriage from one such as yourself whether she wished it or not."

"So say you on the basis of one overheard conversation," Bingley spat, "which you may have taken out of context. Not to mention you base the rest of your assertion on a few hours of observing her behavior. I have been in her company for many hours, and I saw her face last night, Darcy. I am certain of what I am about!"

"Bingley, you must hear me. You would be in grave danger from a marriage of unequal affection. Your manner is so open and artless and your nature so affectionate that it would destroy you to marry a woman who did not return your feelings as fervently as you offer them. Jane Bennet is all that is proper and demure, but her feelings are not returned with the same passion—think back and remember her countenance, man!"

Bingley appeared incensed at the continued attack against the object of his affections and stood, beginning to pace the room with some agitation. "And what of yourself, Darcy?"

Taken aback, Darcy stared at his friend. "To what do you refer?"

"Do you feel deeply? Or is your reserve no more than the lack of feelings?"

"I assure you, Bingley, I feel deeply, though I rarely display it," Darcy responded, somewhat injured at his friend's assertion.

"And I assure you, Darcy, that Jane Bennet feels as deeply as you or I, but as you are reserved, so is she. She is affectionate and caring, but she does not display it for the world to see. And I wish to God that I had thought more clearly about her reactions to me to which only I could be privy—I knew that she cared for me, and I allowed myself to be persuaded otherwise. It shall not happen again!"

"Bingley, please listen to me—"

"No, Darcy, you must listen to me," Bingley snapped. "I am quite determined and will not be persuaded otherwise. I will seek out my dear Miss Bennet once again and discover for myself whether she cares for me. I assure you that, in this matter, continued discussion is fruitless."

A sigh escaped Darcy's lips, and he leaned back in his chair heavily. There was, he reflected, nothing more he could do to protect his friend. Bingley was his own person, after all, and regardless of Darcy's continued desire to support him, he needed to make his own mistakes and become his own man. At least Bingley had admitted that he needed to judge for himself rather than leap into an engagement without thought of the consequences.

"Do you mean to go soon?" he asked.

"I do. I shall go this morning."

"Then go to it. Just make certain you do not raise any expectations which you do not wish to raise. Take the time to observe her before you make any rash moves."

* * *

"Tell me, Darcy," Bingley said, "when you overheard this conversation which led you to believe Miss Bennet was a fortune hunger, was Jane mentioned by name?"

Startled out of his reflection, Darcy gaped at Bingley before bringing himself under control.

"I am certain Miss Bennet was named, yes."

"No, Darcy," he prompted, "not _Miss Bennet_, but _Jane_ in particular. Did they use Jane's name in particular?"

Darcy thought back to the night in confusion. From what he could recall, Jane Bennet's name was not used, but they _had_ referred to the eldest daughter, which would certainly refer to her. In his confusion, he stated as much to Bingley, who responded with a triumphant smirk, further confusing the gentleman.

"In that case, Darcy, your conjecture was completely wrong. I am uncertain how we both came to the same mistaken understanding, but _Jane _Bennet is _not_ the eldest Bennet daughter—that title belongs to Miss _Elizabeth_ Bennet."

Darcy's mouth opened and closed in consternation, but no sound escaped.

"You are in the same condition as I was, my friend," Bingley continued with a superior smirk. "My information cannot be doubted, as it came directly from Miss Elizabeth herself. Jane and Elizabeth are twins, and Miss Elizabeth is the elder by a few minutes."

Darcy finally found his voice. "I cannot tell you how surprised I am. The resemblance is there, but they are so dissimilar, I would never have guessed them to be twins."

"It is true. So, if the _eldest_ Miss Bennet was jilted by a young man in favor of a woman of greater means, then it stands to reason that it was Miss _Elizabeth_ who lost a suitor, not Miss _Jane_. Therefore, your conjecture about Miss Jane is incorrect."

Though he could not deny that Jane had not been the subject of the discussion he overheard, there was still Mrs. Bennet and her influence and obvious mercenary attitude to consider. Regardless of what Bingley _wished_ to believe about the object of his affections, Darcy felt he had to make one last attempt at persuading his friend to bow out gracefully.

"Bingley, there is another matter to consider. I may have been mistaken about _who_ they were speaking of, yet I am sure that the _substance_ of my information is correct. Your Miss Jane may not have lost a suitor, but her sister did, and it has obviously affected the whole family, if indeed they were not mercenary to start with, considering their financial situation. I urge you most strongly to reconsider."

But Bingley, it appeared, had had enough of the conversation. He drained the remaining port in his glass in one swallow and set the glass on Darcy's desk while rising to his feet.

"My mind is made up on the subject, Darcy. As I told you before, I shall not be dissuaded."

He turned and walked to the door, opening it and making to leave. Before he departed, however, he turned and peered at Darcy with a determined gleam in his eye, the likes of which Darcy had never before seen on his friend's face.

"Darcy, I thank you for your assistance in introducing me to society, as well as your friendship. However, I must warn you that I feel strongly about this—so strongly that I will not brook any interference from you in the matter of my life and future happiness. For the sake of our friendship, I urge you to cease your efforts to induce me to abandon my path. If I am making a mistake, it is mine to make.

"If you are truly concerned about my welfare, I invite you to accompany me when I next visit Miss Jane tomorrow morning. You may then observe my beloved and see for yourself. I mean to leave at ten in the morning—if you wish to accompany me, please send me a note, and I shall fetch you on the way."

The door closed behind Bingley, leaving Darcy to his thoughts and feelings. Though he was afraid Bingley was making a mistake, he was also proud of his friend for standing up for his convictions. Determined that the only thing he could do was to see for himself, Darcy decided he would send his friend a note that evening indicating his intention to attend him. He would find the truth out for himself.

The fact that he would see Elizabeth Bennet again was one he firmly pushed to the back of his mind. After all, she was nothing to him. At least, that was what he told himself.


	30. Chapter XXX

**Chapter XXX**

Time seemed to pass by very slowly as Elizabeth waited for the opportunity to speak to Jane alone. Though Bingley's visit had occurred during the fashionable time for visits and the rest of the day lay before her, Elizabeth could not find the opportunity which would allow her to approach her sister. It was not as though Jane was avoiding her; rather, Jane kept to company for the rest of the day, and Elizabeth did not feel comfortable with raising the subject of Mr. Bingley in the presence of their family.

She did, however, have the occasion to watch her sister, and what Elizabeth saw gave her the confidence that she had acted in her sister's best interests-if not completely properly-in speaking with Mr. Bingley the way she had. Jane literally glowed with vitality due to the knowledge that her beloved was not indifferent to her after all. It made Elizabeth long to disclose all even more strongly, though she would never have hidden anything from her sister regardless.

Finally, the hour grew late enough that Elizabeth could excuse herself for bed, and she gave her sister a pointed look that encouraged her to do the same.

They climbed the stairs together in silence, and when they had closed the door behind them and were at last alone, Elizabeth gave Jane a sudden embrace. "Your Mr. Bingley has returned for you, Jane!"

Jane flushed. "Oh, Lizzy. He is not _my_ Mr. Bingley-"

"Jane, he came here for you," said Elizabeth firmly. "And I made certain that he knew what the expectations were for his presence."

Jane's forehead furrowed. "What do you mean, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth once again felt a flash of embarrassment for having been so brazen, but she pushed through it and spoke confidently: "I had a discussion with Mr. Bingley in which I let him know in no uncertain terms that he was to leave immediately if he were not serious about his pursuit of you."

"Lizzy!" exclaimed Jane in horror. "How could you talk to Mr. Bingley so?"

"I did not want him to break your heart once more," whispered Elizabeth. She had not wanted to see her sister so desolate ever again.

Jane turned away from her, obviously upset. "That-it is not done, Lizzy. You should not have spoken to him like that. You have-you have revealed my feelings to him. What if he thinks me just a silly girl?"

Elizabeth moved toward her sister and hugged her. "Jane, Mr. Bingley obviously cares for you. If anything, I wonder if perhaps he needed more of an indication of your feelings for him. Men can be infuriatingly oblivious sometimes."

Jane had stiffened when Elizabeth first put her arms around her, but she slowly melted, unable to maintain even a hint of antipathy toward her sister for very long. "I guess you had only my best interests are heart, Lizzy."

"Oh, Jane, you know I did!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "But come, dearest Jane. Are you not excited that he means to court you?"

Jane gave her a small smile. "You know I am. My love for him is so great that it has-it has hurt me." She turned away from her sister and spoke quietly. "It was so wonderful to see him again-to not have my last memory of him be that glimpse after the opera. But, Lizzy, I am fearful of the unknown." She moved back to look at her sister. "Lizzy, what if he breaks my heart again?"

Elizabeth gazed at her sister fondly. "Why, if he should do that, then I guess we would have to explain why his legs were mysteriously broken afterward!"

Jane laughed, shaking her head. "We cannot break Mr. Bingley's legs, Lizzy. That would be too cruel a punishment."

"I do not believe it would be!" proclaimed Elizabeth. "If he breaks my sister's heart, then breaking his legs would be an apt punishment! Of course, his legs will not be the only ones which need breaking."

"What do you mean, Lizzy?"

"Mr. Bingley let slip that someone else influenced his decision to leave Hertfordshire. He was not able to make that decision on his own. In fact, I strongly suspect he would not have left Hertfordshire at all were it not for this person of whom he speaks, and that vexes me greatly. But I told him he should not tolerate the direction of others when it came to the course of his life, and he acknowledged himself to be a changed man in that regard."

Jane stared at her sister, surprised. "You were certainly direct with Mr. Bingley, Lizzy." She looked away. "I suppose I should be thankful he did not conceive the notion on his own, but I find my pain little assuaged. I am worried-"

"Well, you should not be," said Elizabeth with a steady voice. "Mr. Bingley cares for you." And she really did believe that. Mr. Bingley had made a mistake, and he seemed to realize that and desire to correct it. He no longer deserved Elizabeth's censure, so she determined not to be rude to him any longer. He was not the one who deserved her resentment for hurting her beloved sister. Instead, the other person of whom he spoke did.

The two sisters spoke for a few minutes more before preparing themselves for bed.

But as Elizabeth lay in bed, her thoughts refused to remain still.

It was possible-and, indeed, likely-that Mr. Darcy was the reason Mr. Bingley had left Hertfordshire. Mr. Bingley seemed to think highly of his friend, and, certainly, there were few others near to him in Hertfordshire that would have held such sway over him.

Perhaps Georgiana Darcy had played some part in Mr. Bingley's decision. Elizabeth knew the girl appeared to harbor strong feelings for Mr. Bingley and would have likely jumped at the opportunity to remove her rival from the equation. Nevertheless, Georgiana Darcy's opinion alone would not have been enough to alter Mr. Bingley's course of action. Mr. Darcy was surely the main driving force of Mr. Bingley's departure. He must have believed the Bennets beneath his friend's notice, and that made Elizabeth fume. Elizabeth and Jane's father was a gentleman who descended from a line which, although not rich or titled, had held their estate for generations! They were certainly good enough for Mr. Bingley, whose fortune had come from trade.

But though Elizabeth had suspicions about Mr. Darcy's role, she had no proof. It was possible there was someone else important whom she did not know or had not considered. Still, she felt in her heart that Mr. Darcy was at fault, and it made her bitter.

But though she was furious with the man, she could not help but remember how it had felt to dance with him. He had made an excellent partner, his hand soft on hers, his feet missing no steps, his gaze intense and never wandering. But just because he was a good dancer did not mean he was a good man. His pride colored everything he did. And it had likely influenced his decision-if it _was_ him-to encourage Mr. Bingley to leave Hertfordshire. If any man deserved Elizabeth's censure, Mr. Darcy did.

It did not matter that the intensity of his gaze sometimes caused a shiver to crawl down her spine.


	31. Chapter XXXI

**Chapter XXXI**

The very next day after Mr. Bingley's first visit to Gracechurch Street saw the gentleman once again presenting his card to be announced at the Gardiners' residence. However, this time he was accompanied by a very reluctant Mr. Darcy, who greeted the party in a rather short and abrupt manner before following in his friend's footsteps and sitting down with the assembled ladies. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were not present, having left earlier to visit a dear friend, which meant the three sisters were left to entertain their gentlemen callers themselves.

It was certainly not a trial for one of them—Jane, upon spying Mr. Bingley through the window, sat brimming with excitement over the attentiveness of her soon-to-be-official suitor. Of course, her calm and placid demeanor hid her anticipation from the casual viewer; Elizabeth, being not in any way such, could detect her sister's excitement in the smile which adorned her features and the way she fidgeted slightly in her seat.

As for Elizabeth herself, she was cheered to witness this display of constancy from Mr. Bingley and happy to see him back so soon. What she was not entirely pleased with was the appearance of his friend by his side, as she wondered what he could mean by it.

The uncharitable thought, however, caused Elizabeth to reprimand herself—she did not, after all, have any real proof that Mr. Darcy had effected Mr. Bingley's flight from Hertfordshire, regardless of her suspicions and Mr. Bingley's words, and Elizabeth's inherent good manners would not allow herself to slight him on mere suspicion. She therefore joined her two sisters in welcoming the two gentlemen in their home and, as the eldest, called for refreshments while they all sat down to visit.

Jane, unsurprisingly, was commandeered immediately by Mr. Bingley, who took the first opportunity to sit by her side and engage her in earnest conversation. Elizabeth, knowing how happy Jane was to be receiving his attentions, smiled fondly at her sister, glad that all her dreams appeared to be on the verge of coming true, and turned her attention to the man's friend.

Mr. Darcy was as taciturn as he had initially been in Hertfordshire, which was quite the departure from his later behavior when he had sought her company often. Seeing the return of the taciturn gentleman left her with no congenial thoughts towards him, but she endeavored to be cheerful, and, with Kitty's aid, she did succeed in drawing him into a brief conversation regarding his stay in London.

Even that conversation, though, was stilted and difficult, as Mr. Darcy seemed to be more focused on Mr. Bingley and Jane; it appeared his attention was primarily focused on the happy couple as they spoke to one another, oblivious to the rest of the room. Elizabeth had difficulty in accounting for his behavior—did he wish to protect his friend from Jane, or had he developed some tender feelings of his own? That hardly seemed likely, as he had never distinguished her with any peculiar favor during his time in the neighborhood. No, perhaps he still considered Jane to be Mr. Bingley's inferior and sought to point out Jane's faults by paying close attention to her. Or perhaps he thought to protect his sister's interest in the man. Elizabeth's suppressed anger suddenly flared to life again, as she felt insulted on Jane's behalf.

The arrival of the tea and cakes forestalled any possibility of Elizabeth's simmering resentment being unleashed on the young gentleman, and she busied herself with the serving of the refreshments, once more able to bring her anger under control.

With that complete, she was able to yet again focus on the young man, only to find that he had turned his attention away from the couple and was now focused more on the conversation with Kitty and less on his friend. Surprised, Elizabeth snuck a glance at Jane, finding her still deep in a discussion with Mr. Bingley, before turning back to the enigma of a man who sat before her. She was given to know through Kitty's discussion with the man that his sister was away at school. Elizabeth was relieved—it was good to know that one meddling influence was now away from Mr. Bingley, even though he had shown his faithfulness in returning to see Jane.

Mr. Darcy _had_ exerted himself to take greater part in their discourse, but he was still taciturn—and, to be blunt, even a little surly—at times, although he hid his poor mood behind a mask of indifference. Still, Elizabeth could tell that he had no wish to be there and was fighting to retain his good temper.

Of course, what Elizabeth could not notice in her displeasure was that while he was _not_ in the best of moods and _did_ turn his gaze to Mr. Bingley and Jane frequently, his eyes were directed at _her_ just as often. His face was still unreadable, yet there was a slight softening in his countenance when he looked at her. If Kitty had been able to see, she would likely have noticed his preoccupation with her and pointed it out to her sister, yet, sadly, she could not, and with Jane and Bingley completely engrossed in one another, it went unnoticed.

The morning took a turn for the worse, in Elizabeth's opinion, shortly after the two gentlemen had arrived. They were sitting in the aforementioned manner, engaged in their conversations, when the doorbell rang once more. It was a matter of moments for the butler to answer the door and then show their visitor into the parlor, and as Elizabeth—being the eldest—stood to greet their newest visitor, she was surprised and somewhat disheartened to find the man from the opera—Lord Trenton—step into the room, a supercilious smirk affixed upon his face. He was, she reflected, perhaps the only man in England she wished to see less than Mr. Darcy.

He appeared taken aback at finding other gentlemen callers already visiting the home, but he covered his reaction admirably.

"Darcy!" cried he, stepping forward to greet the gentleman. "Fancy meeting you in a place like this."

Mr. Darcy appeared to be as excited to see Lord Trenton as the reverse—which was to say, not at all.

"Lord Trenton," replied he, standing and offering a bow.

"I did not know you were acquainted with the Bennet sisters," exclaimed Lord Trenton.

"Nor I you," murmured Mr. Darcy in response.

"Come, man, since we appear to be in the same boat here, you should tell me—how do you know of them?"

"I stayed at my friend's estate near their father's for some months in the fall."

He stepped back and motioned to Bingley, who stood in response. "Charles Bingley, please meet Lord Alastair Trenton, Earl of Winchester. Bingley is an old friend from Cambridge, Lord Trenton, and it was at his invitation that I stayed in Hertfordshire."

The two men bowed to each other, and Lord Trenton raised an eyebrow at the other man.  
"Bingley, is it? And your estate is in Hertfordshire?"

The man's tone was all insolence, but Bingley managed to respond with perfect aplomb: "It is a rented estate only. Darcy here was assisting me in learning to run the estate properly, for which I am in his debt."

The unpleasant smirk on the lord's face grew substantially, and his features took on a most arrogant cast. "So, this is the infamous Mr. Bingley, is it, Darcy?" said he with a sly glance. "So good of you to involve yourself in the affairs of such... people, Darcy. I commend you."

He then turned away and paid no more attention to the men, both of whom, understanding his superior jibe, peered at him with unpleasant thoughts. Lord Trenton, however, seemed decidedly oblivious to the decrease in the room's temperature, focusing his attention on Elizabeth instead.

Now, Elizabeth, aware of his scrutiny upon her person, was left with somewhat of a dilemma. Bingley and Jane occupied the loveseat on the far side of the room, while Mr. Darcy and Kitty had been seated upon the sofa, with plenty of room between them as dictated by propriety. Elizabeth had been sitting in one of the chairs, leaving the only seat for Lord Trenton the other chair close by. Though she had no desire to be anywhere near the unsettling man, she did not see any way to avoid sitting in close proximity to him.

Taking the only action available, Elizabeth motioned him to one of the chairs while seating herself in the other.

This began a most unpleasant half hour in which Elizabeth was forced to put up with the attentions of the insistent Lord Trenton. Besides being completely superior and well above his company, Elizabeth felt he was a little odd; he smirked and looked down his nose at everyone, but when Mr. Darcy spoke, Lord Trenton at least gave him the courtesy of his attention, though he would not do so with anyone else in the room. At least Mr. Darcy was the scion of an earl—though untitled himself—and Elizabeth suspected that that fact alone made Mr. Darcy worthy of his attention. Not much more, though.

Elizabeth found herself the recipient of most of Lord Trenton's attention, and though she would preferred that she had not had to bear his company at all, at least they had the arms of the chairs in between them. Lord Trenton was overly familiar with her even as things stood—if they had been seated on the same piece of furniture, she was certain she would have been afraid for her virtue.

The conversation, though, was generally carried by the earl, as Elizabeth attempted to give him as little encouragement as possible, though it did not do her much good. She was curious, though, as to how he had located her, and she said as much.

"I have my contacts," was his smug response. "It was no great feat to determine the residence of your uncle, given I knew his name and that he was a man of _business_."

The last was said as a sneer, and Elizabeth, annoyed as she already was by his manners and arrogance, felt her patience beginning to fray.

"I am sorry, sir," said she, "but I find myself quite at a loss as to why you would seek us out. We are not of your sphere, after all. What do you mean by it?"

"Nothing weighty, Miss Bennet," responded Lord Trenton with a studied look of nonchalance. "I rarely find that I meet persons who intrigue me such as yourself. And your sisters, of course."

Privately, Elizabeth doubted Lord Trenton had any interest whatsoever in her sisters; he had as yet not spoken two words to either of them. The only one who could gain his attention other than Elizabeth was Mr. Darcy, and even he only merited a few words in passing—and then only when the other man had spoken first.

"Actually, I do have a purpose for being here, Miss Bennet," continued he. "I would like to invite you," he swept the room with his gaze, "all the Misses Bennet, of course, along with your uncle and aunt, to my Twelfth Night Ball, which is to be held at my house here in town."

He produced the invitation with a flourish, handing it to Elizabeth.

"I am afraid I did not fathom that I would meet you here, Darcy," said he, looking at the other man. "Yours I have already sent by post."

He sneered in Bingley's direction. "Of course, I would not mind in the slightest if your friend Mr. Boney were to accompany you."

"Bingley," stated Mr. Darcy with a scowl, while Bingley shrugged.

"Whatever," replied Lord Trenton, waving his hand impatiently. "Of course, being a Twelfth Night celebration, it is a masquerade ball. Therefore, you shall have to come wearing a mask, and your partner for the evening will be chosen by lottery."

Elizabeth considered the invitation, wondering if there was any way to refuse it politely. She looked to her sisters, but Jane, though she had heard the invitation, appeared to have no opinion regarding it. She shrugged at her sister and turned back to her conversation with Bingley. Kitty's attendance, Elizabeth knew, was in doubt, as there would be no guarantee of her partnering with someone they could trust—in this case, Mr. Bingley, or—Elizabeth shuddered—perhaps Mr. Darcy.

Deciding that tact was required, Elizabeth regarded the smirking lordling once again and said: "I thank you for the honor of your invitation—"

"Good!" exclaimed Lord Trenton. "Then it is settled."

"I believe Miss Bennet was not finished," spoke up Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth regarded him questioningly, seeing his glare at the earl and wondering what he could mean by it.

"Indeed, Mr. Darcy is correct," continued Elizabeth finally. "As we are under the protection of my uncle why we are in town, it will be his decision as to whether or not we will be able to attend. I am certain you understand."

"Of course," replied Lord Trenton with aplomb. "Please tell your uncle that I would be happy to call upon him if he is uncertain of the sincerity of my invitation. I shall hope to see all of you in attendance. Though, of course, I shall not necessarily know you due to your masks."

He chuckled delightedly at his jest, while Elizabeth was only able to summon the barest of smiles in response. She hoped her uncle would refuse the invitation.

The gentlemen stayed for only a few moments longer, when they all departed at once. Elizabeth, needing the solitude of the Gardiners' home, free from unwanted visitors, mustered up a farewell before sighing and retreating to her room. At least Jane's relationship with Bingley appeared to be deepening as she had thought it would. As for Elizabeth, she had begun to wonder if being in London was worth the drawback of being in the company of arrogant young men.


	32. Chapter XXXII

**Previously:** Bingley and Darcy visit the Gardiners' residence, and Lord Trenton also shows up and invites them all to his Twelfth Night Ball.

* * *

**Chapter XXXII**

When the Gardiners returned, Elizabeth was summoned to meet with them. Sighing—she still felt a little unsettled due to the gentleman callers from that afternoon—Elizabeth put her book she was reading aside and exited the room.

She made her way down the stairs to the drawing room, where she could hear the voices of her family. As she went inside, she learned her sisters were acquainting their aunt and uncle with the details of what had earlier passed in their home.

"Lord Trenton has invited us all to his Twelfth Night Ball?" said Mrs. Gardiner in disbelief. "Why, I am surprised that we should receive such an invitation from an earl."

"I think it may have something to do with Lizzy," ventured Kitty.

Elizabeth looked at her sister in surprise. Kitty wouldn't have been able to see the way Lord Trenton was looking at her eldest sister, but she appeared to have gleaned something regardless. Sometimes, Elizabeth forgot how discerning Kitty could be.

With a frown, Elizabeth said: "The partners are to be chosen by lottery. As such, Kitty should not go. I do not believe it would be fair for us to attend and leave her behind." In truth, she did not want to have any part in the ball if Lord Trenton were to be there.

Kitty shrugged in indifference. "It is a masquerade, and I would be missing a crucial part of the experience were I to go. I do not mind remaining at home while the rest of you attend. I should like to spend some time with my young cousins anyway."

"It is rather short notice," persisted Elizabeth. "We should not have time to prepare regardless."

"Nonsense, Lizzy," said Mrs. Gardiner. "In the time we have, we can ensure that you girls make a spectacular appearance. Why, you would almost think you did not want to go, Lizzy." Here, her aunt pinned her with a stare.

Elizabeth looked away. "Aunt, I think perhaps we should refuse this invitation."

Mr. Gardiner spoke up: "I am not sure that would be wise, Lizzy. This is a prominent social event. To attend could prove to be of some assistance to your family in the long run."

Elizabeth gazed at her uncle. He might as well have said, "If you go, you will become better known in the ton, and it may help to make you more marriageable." He would never have been so callous as to put it that way, but she took his meaning nonetheless.

Sighing, she conceded: "Very well. Perhaps we should go. However, I am not certain how I feel about this lottery."

"Maybe you will receive a partner such as Mr. Darcy," said Kitty brightly.

Elizabeth shook her head, thinking that surely Fate would not be so cruel as to pair her with that man at the dance. "My partner shall probably be someone I have never met," said she. "But I will not mind so long as Jane is paired with Mr. Bingley."

Jane flushed. "We do not even know if he is attending, Lizzy."

Elizabeth smiled at her. "If he thinks you will be, then I am sure he shall be going."

Soon afterward, the conversation turned into a discussion of proper clothing, and Mr. Gardiner excused himself. Kitty soon bored of the conversation as well and left to go to sleep.

Finally, Jane was yawning so much that Elizabeth told her: "You should retire, dear sister. You shall need your beauty rest in case you should see Mr. Bingley again tomorrow."

"Oh, Lizzy!" exclaimed Jane, but she left for bed regardless.

Mrs. Gardiner watched her disappear and then turned to her eldest niece. "I am glad to hear Mr. Bingley came to visit Jane. Do you believe his courtship genuine this time, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth smiled to herself, recalling her words of warning to the kind young man. "Indeed, I do."

"And you say his friend Mr. Darcy was with him?"

"Yes. He was." Elizabeth exhaled heavily. "I rather wished he had not!"

Her aunt frowned. "What do you mean, Lizzy?"

"The man is infuriating! I believe it was he who convinced Mr. Bingley to leave Hertfordshire. Mr. Bingley said someone had pressured him into doing so, and I believe Mr. Darcy is the only one who could have held such great influence over him as to convince him to leave the woman he cares for so deeply!" She threw her hands in the air. "He is cold and proud and taciturn, and he cares for no one but himself. If he was indeed the one who convinced Mr. Bingley to leave, then I doubt he did it for any reason but to distance himself from our family and the other families in Hertfordshire. Company such as ours is beneath him!"

"Lizzy," said her aunt sharply, "you are being very uncharitable, and I think perhaps you do not know Mr. Darcy so well as you think."

"Believe me, aunt, I know Mr. Darcy and his kind very well indeed. As for Mr. Darcy in particular, I believe I know him as well as I should ever wish."

Mrs. Gardiner affixed Elizabeth with a very stern expression—the kind of expression with which she rarely favored any of her nieces (outside of Lydia). Elizabeth had only seen it a few times, and it meant that her aunt was seriously displeased with the way she was acting.

"You know Mr. Darcy well, do you?" demanded she, her tone suggesting that Elizabeth was acting like a petulant child. "Did you also know that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gardiner have been business partners for several years? In fact, Mr. Darcy has dined with us several times. He has even invited us to his townhouse before."

Elizabeth stared at her aunt in astonishment. Was it true that Mr. Darcy had actually lowered himself to deal with _tradespeople_? If so, then perhaps country company was not so abhorrent to him as she had believed. Yet it still made the most sense for him to have been the one to extract Mr. Bingley from Hertfordshire. "I had not realized that."

"He has more progressive views than you think, Lizzy," admonished her aunt. "He knows he will eventually need to supplement his income, as times are changing, and thus he has been doing some business in trade. He is truly a good and caring person. I have no doubt of that."

Chastened, Elizabeth looked down to her hands, which were wringing a handkerchief. Stilling them, she lifted her head. "I must admit that I wonder a little whether we are speaking of the same person. Mr. Darcy rarely smiles, much less laughs. How could he be this good and caring person of whom you speak?"

"Lizzy," said her aunt gently, "obviously I cannot say anything of Mr. Darcy's behavior in Hertfordshire, but I would like you to hold your judgment upon him. I am not, of course, privy to Mr. Darcy's concerns, but I suspect he may be dealing with something important. He is of an age where several important decisions are ahead of him. Perhaps he believes he must soon seek a wife."

Elizabeth colored and lowered her eyes back to the handkerchief. "Have you met his sister before?"

"A few times," replied her aunt. "She seemed like a very affable sort of person, though she was very shy."

Elizabeth might have become convinced at that point that they were talking about two different families were it not for the fact that she could remember experiencing Georgiana's affability when they had first met. Georgiana Darcy had been quite pleasant to talk to—and then a great change had come over her and turned her into a very different sort of person. Though it was obvious that the change was related to the girl's infatuation with Mr. Bingley, the glimpse she had had of the young girl suggested that Mrs. Gardiner's impression of the young girl would have mirrored Elizabeth's own, if she should have met her under different circumstances. Perhaps Georgiana Darcy was to be pitied rather than despised. Certainly, Elizabeth did not believe her to be evil; she only wished Mr. Darcy would pay closer attention to his sister. But maybe Georgiana Darcy would grow out of her surly possessiveness. Elizabeth could only hope.

"I suppose I should take the time to look at Mr. Darcy a little closer," said Elizabeth reluctantly. "Perhaps I have misjudged him."

"Please do, Lizzy," replied her aunt. "He really is an admirable man."

Elizabeth stood, ready to go to bed. "Maybe one day I will see him as you do, Aunt," said she with a smile.

"I hope so."


	33. Chapter XXXIII

**Previously:** The Gardiners note that it would be good for Jane and Elizabeth to go to Lord Trenton's Twelfth Night Ball. When Elizabeth complains about Darcy, Mrs. Gardiner tells her that Darcy is actually a good man—and that Elizabeth needs to give him a chance.

* * *

**Chapter XXXIII**

It was ever so frustrating, Elizabeth reflected. When waiting for a much anticipated event, the time seemed to drag, while dreaded engagements came upon one swiftly. Or at least that was what Elizabeth felt.

Normally, a ball would be an occasion which _could_ be looked upon with some anticipation, for although Elizabeth had taken to avoid dancing, she would still be able to indulge in her past time of observing others, laughing at their antics, and meeting with her friends. Elizabeth was a social creature, the events which had soured her on dancing notwithstanding.

Lord Trenton's masquerade ball offered none of these things, and if Elizabeth had had her way, they would not even be attending. There was something about the man which put Elizabeth on edge, something in his eye when he looked at her. At times, she wondered if the feelings his gaze engendered approximated those of a field mouse being eyed by an owl. She would not put it past him to try something at this ball of his, and Elizabeth, disliking the situation as she did, was not certain she would be able to withstand his attentions. At least the chances of ending up as his partner were not great.

All of this did not even take into account the fact that—by all reports—the Twelfth Night masquerade ball was traditionally a time for the cream of society to shed their normally proper behavior and engage in the revelries with much less restraint than was wont. Despite the low chance of having deal with Lord Trenton himself, the appeal of spending the evening in the company of some other dandy partaking in flirtation and perhaps other less respectable activities was sadly lacking.

However, the arguments the Gardiners had used to persuade her of the need to attend were impeccable, the result of which had her sitting in the carriage on the way to Lord Trenton's opulent London home.

Less of a surprise was the attendance of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley—the next day's visit by both gentlemen had brought about the Bennet sisters' intention to attend, which of course necessitated Mr. Bingley's presence at the evening's entertainment. His motives, although he would undoubtedly be paired with someone other than Jane, were clear. Mr. Darcy's motives, however, were not, and Elizabeth would likely have puzzled over his behavior if the circumstances had not been so unsettling for her.

The carriage pulled up to the house, and the Bennet sisters were immediately impressed with the elegance of the earl's home and the casual opulence which was displayed. The entrance hall was massive, and the ballroom even larger. It was by far the most impressive home Elizabeth had ever seen, and though she was not in a position to judge these things, having grown up in a much more modest setting, she felt that his taste was actually quite good. She would have thought that such a rich man would have tried to bludgeon his visitors over the head with displays of wealth, but the earl did not necessarily appear to be that sort of man. It improved her opinion of him—very slightly.

It appeared that much of the upper crust of London society had turned out for the event. The entrance to the house was crowded as the invitees to the soiree made their way to the ballroom, and Elizabeth was awed by the fabrics and cuts of the gowns. She was suddenly glad that her aunt had insisted upon using Mr. Gardiner's contacts to ensure they had new dresses created for the occasion; even the finest of the dresses she had brought from Hertfordshire would have paled in comparison to what she was witnessing that evening, though it would have been considered dreadfully ostentatious for all but the most formal engagements back at home. Here, her new gown made her fit in with this crowd—barely. There were dresses here which would have cost a sizable chunk of her father's yearly income.

Elizabeth's own dress was a deep burgundy in color, and her mask was multi-colored. The eyeslits were lined with red, and the golden color covering the nose of the mask spread upward above the eyes like eyebrows. There were pointed strips of orange, red, and gold along the sides of the mask which bore only a slight resemblance to tongues of fire, and it was exotic without being ostentatious. As for Jane, she wore a royal blue gown. Her mask was a lighter shade of blue and lacked the adornments of most masquerade masks. The modest simplicity of the ensemble was very much representative of Jane herself. Despite their differing appearances, both young women looked lovely indeed.

As for Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, their appearances could not be any more different. Mr. Bingley was dressed in a bright green suit which was a little lighter than a deep forest color, but it was one that—though it was easily recognizable—did not induce a headache. It rather spoke to a sense of flamboyance and playfulness—he had apparently decided to put his all into his costume. His mask was a contrasting mint green, with plumes of feathers streaming out from its top, waving about his head like a peacock's plumage. The effect was slightly silly, but somehow the effervescent Mr. Bingley managed to pull it off. Mr. Darcy's own outfit was less flashy. He wore a cobalt-colored coat with cream-colored trousers. His mask was the same muted color of deep cobalt blue, and Elizabeth, had she not already acknowledged that he was a handsome gentleman, may have found herself swooning at his debonair appearance. The effect of his outfit was one of mystery, unlike the silliness of Mr. Bingley's ensemble—their appearances were each a reflections of their contrasting personalities.

Both the two young men and the two young ladies were ready for the masquerade in regard to their appearance, though Elizabeth felt less than ready for it mentally and emotionally. Nonetheless, she was resolved to face the evening with the appearance of enjoyment—though she would likely be simply gritting her teeth the entire time.

At the entrance to the ballroom, a group of the earl's servants were greeting the party goers and offering small slips of paper, each with a number printed upon them. This, obviously, would be the means by which her companion for the evening would be determined.

A comment from Jane distracted her, and she leaned to hear her sister's voice, all the while marveling at the splendor on display. A sudden sense of being watched turned her attention away from Jane, and she peered toward the servants' table, only to see the swirl of a dark cloak as a man departed from amongst the servants. Deciding her nerves were getting the better of her, Elizabeth took a deep breath and calmed herself, ensuring her mask was firmly in place and would not be dislodged.

When they had made their way to the table through the press of the crowd, they were urged by the servants to draw a number from the bowls provided for the occasion. The Gardiners declined, preferring to remain together for the evening, and although Elizabeth would have liked nothing more than to do so herself, she was urged to choose her number and enjoy the evening. There were several such couples emulating the Gardiners' example, although she did notice many others—several of them older by far than her father—join the festivities by choosing their own number. It appeared that the revelries were not only for the young and unattached.

Elizabeth gathered her courage and stepped forward, directed toward a bowl by the servant, and after she had plucked a card from the bowl, she opened it to reveal the number "64." The servant then explained that she was to display the card so the gentleman with the same number—who would become her partner for the evening—could find her in the crowd. The servant then explained that if she were not able to find her partner within the first thirty minutes of the ball, she should come back to the table to draw a new number; therefore, everyone who wished it would ultimately have a companion for the evening.

Elizabeth thanked the servant, and with Jane beside her and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley following behind—Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner having disappeared at the table with an admonishment for the ladies to enjoy themselves—she made her way into the ballroom.

If Elizabeth had been impressed with the house before, the ballroom with its magnificence raised her appreciation even higher. It was decorated with ribbons and garlands, holly and ivy, in keeping with the season, while sparkling icicles and snowflakes hung on wires from the ceiling. The orchestra was clearly of the highest quality, and it played prelude music which echoed over the din of the speaking masses. On the far side of the room drifted the scents of wine and punches, and delicacies of every sort to tempt the palate stood on tables which were already surrounded with guests partaking of the bounty with relish. It was quite the most incredible scene which Elizabeth had ever beheld, and for a moment, she was actually glad she had attended.

The party stood for several moments in one another's company, scanning the crowds for their companions for the evening—at least, Elizabeth did so. Jane and Mr. Bingley appeared to be focused more on each other and their disappointment at not being paired, while Mr. Darcy appeared to be concentrating on displaying his most imperious and intimidating stare on the room.

It was not long before a young man approached and bowed to Jane, displaying the matching card to Jane's own. Although she was only in his presence for a moment, he appeared to be cheerful and friendly, and soon Jane was swept away with her partner after a quick glance and murmur for Elizabeth to enjoy herself for the evening. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley left not long after to search for their own partners, though Elizabeth did notice that Mr. Darcy appeared to stay close. Elizabeth could only wonder at his behavior—the man was obviously wishing he was somewhere else, and if so, why did he deign to attend the ball at all? Elizabeth was once again forced to suppress her less than charitable feelings for the man—she still supposed him to be responsible for Mr. Bingley's departure from Hertfordshire. Her aunt's portrayal of his character was such that she supposed she must attempt to think better of him, difficult though it was.

Several moments later, she was approached by a tall man dressed all in black who bowed and presented her with a card which contained the identical "64" emblazoned upon its surface. His feathered black mask covered his eyes and nose but left his mouth easily visible. Silver surrounded the eyeholes and curved upward, while tufts of delicate black feathers were scattered along the top of the mask. In all, it gave him a somewhat sinister appearance.

"Good evening, madam," stated he. "It appears that I am to be your companion for the evening."

Elizabeth started and stared at the man, hoping against hope that the suspicion which was beginning to form in the back of her mind was not about to be confirmed.

"Sir," responded she with a curtsy, her good manners overcoming her misgivings.

The man grinned devilishly at her and, taking her arm, directed her toward an out-of-the-way corner of the room. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss…"

Fury took hold of Elizabeth. It was clear—from the voice, the assured movements, the supercilious manner—she had the complete misfortune to be paired with none other than the detested Lord Trenton!

Shocked and unable to account for this stroke of ill luck, Elizabeth was silent, glancing down at the floor and praying for the strength to make it through the evening. Or rather, to withstand the machinations of the man, she thought savagely. It was nigh impossible that this could be a coincidence—somehow, he had managed to influence the lottery so that she would be forced into a night in his company! There was no other explanation to be had!

"Madam? Are you well?"

The words were not spoken in the solicitous tone Elizabeth would have been expecting given the circumstances; instead, they were spoken with all the arrogance and conceit of which she supposed the man capable. Her eyes darted to his face, and although it was obscured somewhat by his mask, Elizabeth could see the haughty smirk which adorned his features. He was obviously aware that she had figured out his interference and was not bothered by the fact. The nerve and pride of the man!

"I am very well, thank you," bit out Elizabeth in response. "I thank you for inquiring."

"I am glad to hear it. I should not like to be deprived of the opportunity to spend the evening with such an enchanting partner due to some small ailment."

Elizabeth colored. "I thank you, sir. But perhaps you should reserve judgment upon my person until you have known me longer than a mere five minutes."

A most unpleasant grin spread over his face, and he leered down at her, causing her to almost shudder in revulsion.

"I do not doubt that you will be an agreeable partner, miss. But come now—shall you keep me guessing about your identity for the entire evening? I should very much like to know the name of my companion."

Though she knew very well that the earl was in no doubt of her identity, Elizabeth would not give him the satisfaction of calling her by name. "Perhaps not," responded she coyly. "I believe I should like to keep you guessing, sir—it may very well be the only power over you which I possess."

His answering grin was almost feral. "Very well then, miss. I shall enjoy attempting to divine your identity. All I ask is that you be more forthcoming if I have not had any success by the supper hour."

Elizabeth would have given almost anything to be able to deny him even that, but she was forced to agree with his condition.

The music changed, and the various couples began moving to the dance floor for the opening dance. Lord Trenton bowed to her and grasped her hand, pulling her with him while leering at her, his eyes focused on her décolletage. "I believe this is the first dance, and I simply must have the pleasure of experiencing it with you."

It was, quite simply, the most horrible dance to which Elizabeth had ever been subjected. Though she was well aware of the follies of certain men and the means by which they would attempt to flatter a young woman and try to gain her favor—not to mention the methods a man would use to induce the woman to indulge in more than idle flirting—she had never been witness to, much less the center of, such base behavior herself. Lord Trenton proved himself—though Elizabeth had had little doubt previously—to be the most rakish and improper partner Elizabeth could have imagined. Even Mr. Darcy, stiff-necked and proud as he was, would have been a more agreeable partner!

Lord Trenton used every trick in his considerable arsenal. He flattered her vanity with outrageous compliments, lingered closer to her than necessary, and held her hand longer than was proper, all the while peering at her with considerable lust in his eyes. Elizabeth felt he was veritably undressing her with his eyes!

The half hour was interminable, but when it was finally over, he led her off to the side of the room for some more "private conversation," and Elizabeth begged off, stating she needed to go to the powdering room for a moment. His smug assurance that she would be back was evident in his voice as he declared himself anticipating her return.

Elizabeth only spent a few moments in the ladies' room, conscious as she was of the other women in attendance who were in the room—it would look odd for her to stand around doing nothing while other ladies entered and exited after completing their ablutions.

She snuck out of the room and immediately made her way to another part of the house where various other entertainments had been set up. There were card tables, comfortable lounges where couples gathered to speak, and other rooms with tables fairly groaning with the wide variety of refreshments laid out. There were also other—more esoteric—amusements to be found, most of which Elizabeth would not linger over.

Elizabeth, not wishing to be discovered by the house's master, kept moving through the crowd, hoping she would find Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and induce them to leave the celebration early.

She had exited the house into the courtyard when she espied the earl enter the courtyard from across the way, his eyes affixed upon her from the moment he made his appearance. Stifling an unladylike curse, Elizabeth darted back into the house and quickly made her way through several rooms before ducking out onto one of the balconies. Sighing, she leaned against the balustrade, wishing for a polite way out of her predicament.

Not a moment later, she heard the soft fall of a footstep and whirled around to see the smirking visage of the earl step out onto the balcony.

"Ah, there you are," intoned he, his voice smug. "You must have had difficulty in locating me after your brief respite from the ballroom."

The conceit of the man was beyond belief—he was completely cognizant of the fact that Elizabeth had been avoiding him, yet he ignored her antipathy as though it was of no moment. And how had he managed to locate her so quickly? Had he ordered the servants to report her movements?

"But perhaps this happenstance is fortuitous," he continued, approaching her as a predator approaches its prey. "I would relish the opportunity to know you better away from prying eyes."

Moving quickly, certain her virtue was at risk, Elizabeth darted to another entrance to the house, drawing him in her wake. "I should much prefer to dance," exclaimed she by way of explanation, regretting that she needed to say anything to him at all.

His manner in response to her ploy was all insolence—she could see his determination and his confidence that he would have his own way before long. Not willing to be in any sort of private situation with him from that point forward, Elizabeth led him to the ballroom, but not before he caught up with her and firmly placed her hand upon his arm, escorting her into the large room as though they were close confidantes.

As they entered the ballroom, Elizabeth happened to see Mr. Darcy standing to the side, watching her as she entered on Lord Trenton's arm. His displeasure at seeing them was more than evident, and Elizabeth wondered at his attitude. Had he witnessed the scene between herself and the earl earlier? And if so, why should he care for the virtue of the daughter of an obscure country gentleman? Elizabeth only had time to again admonish herself and remember her aunt's words before Lord Trenton swept her once more on to the dance floor.

The second dance with the arrogant lordling was similar to the first, but the discomfort it caused Elizabeth was magnified by Lord Trenton's increased aggressiveness. His eyes were now blatantly on her décolletage, and his hand now lingered upon hers with a series of almost sensual caresses. It was when his hand "accidentally" brushed against her waist during one exchange that Elizabeth's anger flared, and after imperiously glaring at her escort, she turned and stalked off the dance floor, much to the surprise of some of the other dancers.

Furious, Elizabeth made her way from the floor, determined to find her aunt and uncle and demand she be allowed to return home and get away from this farce of an event.

She made it to the refreshment tables before her arm was grabbed roughly from behind and she was spun around to face her attacker.

"Just what is wrong with you?" demanded Lord Trenton.

"_You_ are what is wrong!" cried Elizabeth while wrenching her hand from his grasp. "I do not know to what you are accustomed, sir, but I can assure you that I will not be treated in such a cavalier and familiar manner!"

"And what manner is that, madam?" challenged the earl. "I was under the impression that we were to be partners for the evening. Is not a certain amount of familiarity expected in such cases?"

"A certain amount, perhaps, but certainly nothing like you have shown. I do not appreciate your overly amorous attempts to seduce me or your attempts to force me into a situation which would compromise me. I do not welcome your attentions, sir!"

The sneer which came over his face was quite unpleasant. "You are nothing but a commoner, and you are worth nothing more than a plaything to your betters. Why can you not simply accept your role and appreciate coming to the attention of one such as I?"

In that moment, Elizabeth's already frayed temper snapped, and before she could even recognize any conscious thought, her arm was swinging forward to connect with the arrogant man's cheek with a resounding smack. Elizabeth had just slapped a man for the second time in her life!

Unfortunately for the earl, he was clearly not expecting her reaction, whether it was his pride and superiority or his overwhelming confidence he would ultimately prevail. Whatever the reason, her hand connecting with his cheek caught him completely by surprise, and he stumbled backward, colliding bodily with a nearby table of refreshments and knocking it over, depositing a tray of delicacies and a bowl of punch all over his expensive suit.

Pain shot through Elizabeth's hand, and she cradled it while watching the reactions of the surrounding revelers, who were clearly shocked at her impulsive act. Not all those around her appeared to be displeased, she learned, for she saw more than one expression change to one of satisfaction at the sight of the earl drenched in his own punch. If Elizabeth had been in any state to enjoy the scene, she would have admitted that his predicament was highly diverting.

As tears began to stream down Elizabeth's face, Jane rushed up to her and hugged her, providing all the comfort of a beloved sister. Behind her, Mr. Darcy also approached, the look on his face mirroring the general astonishment of the room, although his countenance held a certain satisfaction mixed in with the surprise. Elizabeth, though, had no time to think about the enigmatic man.

"I want to go home, Jane," sobbed she as the tears began to fall in earnest.

"Of course, Lizzy," whispered Jane in response.

A look passed between Mr. Darcy and Jane. Mr. Darcy excused himself and rushed off into the crowd while Elizabeth was led away by Jane, who whispered words of comfort into her ear as they walked.

"How dare you?" broke out the enraged voice of the earl over the crowd.

Elizabeth and Jane turned to see Lord Trenton struggling up from the floor, his efforts hampered by the slickness of the punch-coated tiles and the delicacies which squished most unpleasantly under his shoes. His mask had been knocked askew by his tumble, and he had discarded it. When he at last gained his feet, his face was suffused with an expression of such murderous fury that Elizabeth momentarily felt afraid he would do something to revenge himself upon her.

He made no move toward the sisters, however, merely bellowing for his servants, several of whom came rushing forward to assist their master.

"Throw these tarts from the house directly!" ordered he.

As the servants turned toward the two frightened sisters, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley emerged from the crowd and rushed to their side. Mr. Darcy took one look at the shaking sisters and turned on his heel, affixing Lord Trenton with a cold stare while motioning the servants to stand clear.

"You will do no such thing!" said Mr. Darcy, his voice calm, controlled, and icy cold.

"Who are you to order me in my own house?" sneered Lord Trenton. "This trollop has drawn me in and humiliated me in front of all my guests. I will not have her here, ruining this event!"

"It is your own doing, Trenton," jibed Mr. Darcy in response. "I have watched you throughout the evening. You have behaved in a most ungentlemanly manner, almost forcing your attentions on a young lady who did not want or welcome them. Then you besmirched her good name by declaring her to be nothing more than your plaything. _If_ I considered you enough of a gentleman, I would call you out for such dishonor."

The earl paled at Mr. Darcy's words before his mask once again hardened. "Get out! You will leave this house immediately!"

"Nothing would please me more!" snapped Elizabeth before turning and marching from the room, closely followed by her sister and the two gentlemen.

They moved through the foyer and in a few moments' time had gathered their coats and wraps. Mr. Darcy spoke softly to one of the servants, instructing him to find Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and inform them of their immediate departure. Then he and Mr. Bingley escorted them from the room and in to the carriage, which the former had ordered moments before.

"I am so sorry to ruin your evening, Jane," said Elizabeth through suppressed sobs. "I could simply not take another moment in his company."

"It is nothing, Lizzy," replied Jane, stroking Elizabeth's hair. "The young man with whom I was paired was pleasant, but he was not the one who I would have liked to have as a companion."

Her reference was not lost on any of the occupants—Mr. Bingley's face was suffused with a beaming smile, and even the corners of Mr. Darcy's mouth twitched upwards in response to her declaration.

"Whatever shall I do?" wailed Elizabeth as the reality of her situation entered her awareness. "After that altercation, I will be ruined. The earl will almost certainly brand me as a scarlet woman and temptress to all."

"Miss Elizabeth," interjected Mr. Darcy with a kindly smile. "I think you have nothing to worry about on that account. I doubt you were recognized, and Lord Trenton will certainly not wish to publicize his disgrace at the hands of one he considers to be so much lower in consequence to himself. I am sorry to pain you with that description, but I can assure you that he will feel that way about you."

Elizabeth smiled gratefully at him, and as coherently as she was able, she gave him to understand that she was sensible of his words and appreciated his concern.

"I should think that nothing will come of this," continued he once she had thanked him. "As long as you do not declare your identity, the scandal sheets will gleefully report Trenton's humiliation at the hands of an 'unknown lady,' but they will then lose interest as other scandals come to light. You should have little to worry about."

The Gardiners returned a few moments later, and after assuring themselves that their niece was not harmed, the order was given, and the coach departed. The Gardiners invited the gentlemen to their house for a small repast, which was gratefully accepted, and the passengers settled in for the trip home.

It had been, Elizabeth reflected, the most horrid night of her life. But the pain of her sprained wrist was more than offset by the sight of seeing the insufferable man covered in the remains of his own refreshments.


	34. Chapter XXXIV

**Previously:** At the Twelfth Night Ball, Lord Trenton proves himself a major nuisance, but Elizabeth takes care of him by slapping him and accidentally making him collide with a table of refreshments.

* * *

**Chapter XXXIV**

London kept Bingley very busy. If he was not going to the Gardiners' to see Jane, then he was attending to the other social engagements required for one who wished to keep up an appearance of respectability and propriety. He begrudged the social visits that took him away from Jane Bennet, but he had come to London with Darcy and would not shun or shame his friend, who knew many different people in the city.

What Bingley did not understand was the way Darcy was acting. Bingley had known the man for several years, but he had never seen him behave in the way he was as of late. It was certainly peculiar how Darcy continued to accompany Bingley on nearly all of his visits to Gracechurch Street. The only reason for Darcy's doing so which Bingley could think of was the notion that Darcy was attracted to Elizabeth. Darcy had certainly proved himself quite the rescuer to Elizabeth Bennet from her unenviable situation at the Twelfth Night Ball, though Bingley realized Miss Bennet had mostly been able to save herself. He still found it hard to get the image of a refreshment-covered Lord Trenton out of his mind. Even Darcy had managed half a smile afterward and made the comment: "I believe punch is a good look for Lord Trenton."

For that matter, an amiable man such as Bingley found it difficult to understand the actions of the arrogant earl. Surely the man's sense of entitlement to whatever he fancied for himself was a dark stain on the upper classes, although that was certainly not an opinion Bingley limited to Trenton. Bingley loved to meet new people and make himself agreeable to all, but it was men such as Trenton which made Bingley even more grateful for Darcy's assistance.

Concentrating once again on his friend, Bingley reflected that he had seen Darcy interact with many different women in their time together, but his friend had never seemed _this_ distracted. In fact, Bingley knew the reason Darcy had been so eager to leave Rosings and come to Hertfordshire was to get some distance from women and think carefully about his future. But if Bingley's suspicions were correct in regard to Elizabeth Bennet, then Darcy was merely becoming more distracted than he had been before he went to Hertfordshire.

Bingley looked across at his friend, who was standing by the window and looking outside. Darcy always kept his feelings close, and it was sometimes hard to know what he was thinking.

But Bingley knew that there had been two women in his friend's line of sight at Rosings. One of those women was Darcy's cousin Anne de Bourgh.

Bingley knew Darcy cared for his cousin, but he also suspected his friend did not feel more than friendship for the woman. Miss de Bourgh was oppressed by her mother—even Bingley, whose understanding was not always as great as many of his friends', understood that—and Darcy appeared to be her one chance at escaping that oppression. The man of duty in Darcy appeared to be seriously considering proposing marriage to Miss de Bourgh, though Bingley did not know if it was wholly Darcy's sense of duty. There could also be an amount of sympathy or even pity wrapped up in Darcy's consideration of the matter.

The other woman Darcy had been thinking seriously about while at Rosings was Miss de Bourgh's friend Elia Baker.

Miss Baker was certainly a handsome, lively, and kind-seeming woman, but even Bingley thought she was too much the twit for the intelligent Darcy. But Darcy appeared to be amused by the woman's slightly stupid moments, even appearing to encourage them at times. It was something that did not sit well with Bingley, who was reminded in no small way of the way Mr. Bennet appeared to handle his wife.

Bingley had feared when they left Rosings that a part of Darcy fancied himself in love with Miss Baker. But Bingley did not believe Darcy could truly find happiness and fulfillment from such a marriage. Miss Baker's status in life was certainly above that of the Misses Bennet, so on those grounds, she would make a suitable wife for Darcy. However, Bingley felt the amusement she provided his friend was not of a healthy sort. Unlike Elizabeth Bennet, Elia Baker did not challenge Darcy.

If Darcy _was_ attracted to Elizabeth, then he must certainly have been having a hard time of it. A man of his wealth and position was expected to choose a proper bride. Considerations such as the woman's dowry and familial connections had to be taken into account. The expectations of a man's family could also not be completely ignored. And Darcy's aunt had been more than clear about her wishes for Darcy to marry her daughter. Fortunately for Darcy, the rest of his family would not be upset if he did not marry Miss de Bourgh, but he had to be feeling pressured nonetheless. Miss de Bourgh would bring no small dowry.

"Would you like some Scotch?" asked Bingley of his friend. He lifted the bottle in the air.

"Yes, please," murmured Darcy, not moving away from the window.

Bingley withheld a sigh and poured his friend a drink. Darcy had brooded a lot before, but never to this extreme. Bingley was just glad _he_ did not have to choose from among three women like his friend did. Bingley's happiness was wrapped up in Jane Bennet and her alone. He never needed to look with hope and trepidation at another woman again.

Bingley carried over the drink to Darcy, who accepted it and returned his gaze to the outside with a mumbled thanks.

Bingley just shook his head to himself and then poured a drink of his own. After the disaster that had happened when Darcy interfered in Bingley's love life, Bingley was determined to keep his opinions to himself. Unless Darcy specifically asked him what he thought about either of the three women who were likely occupying his thoughts, Bingley would not say a word.

But Bingley knew he would not be unhappy to have Darcy for a brother-in-law—and not just because he would enjoy calling Darcy "brother." Elizabeth Bennet conjured up extreme emotions in the normally serious Darcy, and Bingley believed that was good for his friend. But Bingley himself would not say anything. Darcy was the only one who could decide what he wished his future to look like. Bingley could not do it for him.

As Bingley took a sip of his Scotch, his thoughts turned to Jane Bennet. Now, _there _was something much more pleasant to think about.


	35. Chapter XXXV

**Previously:** Bingley suspects Darcy may be interested in Elizabeth, even though Darcy seems to intend to marry either Anne de Bourgh or Elia Baker. But Bingley decides to keep his mouth shut due to the disaster that happened to Bingley when Darcy interfered in his love life.

* * *

**Chapter XXXV**

For Elizabeth, Jane, Kitty, and their aunt and uncle, there were many visits to be made and assemblies to attend in the days and weeks which passed after the catastrophe with Lord Trenton. On the twenty-ninth of January, they even went to an ice-skating assembly. Ever since the Twelfth Night Ball, the Gardiners were more cautious in what invitations they urged their nieces to accept, but they quickly deemed this event a harmless one, and their nieces were eager to attend. Many was the winter day that the girls had skated upon a pond on their father's estate. The pastime was much beloved by them. The gentle scraping of skates across the ice—combined with the pleasure of cheeks warmed by their exertions and the sheen of the thin frosty layer left behind by their skates—created an effect that was altogether pleasurable.

There was some debate as to whether Kitty should accompany them—she was as good a skater as her sisters, but she would be unable to see the other ladies and gentlemen on the ice—but Jane and Elizabeth insisted they would help their sister, so the Gardiners relented.

They dressed warmly in scarves, gloves, caps, shawls, and the other accoutrements of winter, and then they took a carriage to their destination.

The assembly was to be held at a frozen tributary near the home of Mr. Davidson. He was a wealthy man with an estate in Wiltshire, and Mr. Darcy knew him from Cambridge. Mr. Darcy had, in fact, introduced Mr. Davidson and his wife to the three Bennet girls at an assembly. Though the Davidsons had spoken to the three Bennets only briefly, they declared that they must meet the young ladies again. This was why the Davidsons' invitation for them to attend the ice-skating event did not come as a surprise.

When they arrived, Mr. Davidson greeted them jovially. "Ah, such pictures of loveliness! I do hope you have dressed warmly enough—if not, my home will be open to all who wish for a chance to warm themselves." He made a gesture to the street, drawing their attention to a side entrance to his home. "You will find cakes, pastries, tea, and all sorts of refreshments inside."

"We thank you for your hospitality," said Mrs. Gardiner with a smile.

"It is our pleasure," offered Mrs. Davidson.

"Are you all skilled skaters?" asked her husband.

"We have skated many times at our home in Hertfordshire," answered Elizabeth.

"Ah!" said Mr. Davidson, sounding disappointed, though there was a twinkle in his eye. "I must admit I had hoped otherwise—I would relish the chance to teach young ladies such as yourselves the proper method."

"My husband is a skilled skater," said Mrs. Davidson kindly. "He was teaching our children some of the finer points of skating earlier today."

"We shall be certain to ask if we need assistance," said Elizabeth.

"Good, good!" Mr. Davidson exclaimed. And then he moved on with his wife to greet another of their guests.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. Mr. Davidson seemed like a kind man, but it seemed a little strange to her how Mr. Darcy sometimes appeared to surround himself with pleasant people like Mr. Bingley and Mr. Davidson. She might have thought he would be interested in people of a more taciturn disposition.

Shrugging to herself, she helped Kitty affix her skates to her shoes and then did the same for herself. Then, she and her two sisters went to the ice. There were already several skaters gliding around in enjoyment, and Jane and Elizabeth each took one of Kitty's arms and joined them.

"Skating is so freeing!" exclaimed Kitty.

Elizabeth smiled. "It makes me feel like a bird!"

"A silly bird without feathers," said Jane warmly.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in shock. "Why, my dear sister Jane is teasing me!" She laughed. "If I were a bird without feathers, I should imagine all the other birds would not wish to accept me! If I were able to fly—despite not having any feathers—then I would go far away from London to seek out other featherless birds."

"And if you never found anyone like you?" ventured Kitty.

"Then I should simply have to find someone who accepted me as I am. Surely there is someone interested in silly featherless birds like myself!"

"Oh! There is Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley!" exclaimed Jane.

Elizabeth looked to where Jane was pointing with a free hand. Mr. Darcy had on skates of his own, and he was struggling to get on the ice without falling. Mr. Bingley was standing beside him and grinning widely, as if it brought him great pleasure to see his friend was actually unskilled in some fashion.

Mr. Bingley saw them looking at him, and he came skating over to them. They slowed down almost to a stop.

"Miss Bennet, Miss Jane, Miss Kitty," greeted he happily. "You appear to be fine skaters."

"Mr. Darcy appears to be having some difficulties," noted Elizabeth with a mischievous smile. "I might wonder why a man who lives in the frozen north of Derbyshire would not know his way around on a pair of skates."

Mr. Bingley laughed. "I do not know, but I _can_ tell you that Darcy barely knows a skate from a piece of metal! I daresay he is in desperate need of an instructor, though he is probably too proud to accept one."

Elizabeth looked over at Mr. Darcy, whose face was dark as he tried to move forward, his arms hovering in the air in a fashion that was almost birdlike as he tried not to slip and fall.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. Then, remembering how her aunt had wanted her to look more closely at Mr. Darcy, she said to the man's friend: "Mr. Bingley, if you would assist Jane with Kitty, then I shall go take Mr. Darcy under my wing."

"Certainly!" agreed Mr. Bingley.

Her sisters' giggles followed her as she skated over to Mr. Darcy.

"Miss Bennet," greeted he, his face red.

"Mr. Darcy," returned Elizabeth, trying to refrain from laughing at his obvious embarrassment. "I am told you do not know much about ice skating."

The man glowered at his friend, who was cheerfully helping Jane escort Kitty. "It appears Mr. Bingley has exposed my secret to the world."

This time, Elizabeth allowed herself to laugh. "Oh, it was no secret, Mr. Darcy. Your lack of practice was obvious even to the untrained eye."

"I suppose I should have agreed to let my sister teach me a few years ago when she offered," mumbled he.

"Well, fear not, Mr. Darcy. You now have a new instructor at your service."

He actually gave a small smile at that. "I suppose you are taking this task upon yourself?"

"Indeed, I am. I refuse to allow you to sully your reputation by plunging to the ground. Now, come." She offered him her arm.

He stared at her with those intense dark eyes for a few seconds, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. But then he took the arm she was offering, and she forced her gaze away and her mind to the business at hand.

At first, they merely talked in low voices about skating—her coaxing him along and giving him tips about how to hold himself and what to do with his feet.

Before long, he had grown comfortable enough with the activity that they were able to speak of other things.

"Are you enjoying your time in London?" inquired Mr. Darcy.

"I am," affirmed Elizabeth. "But I admit I do miss my walks at Longbourn."

"Surely in the winter you cannot walk as you do in the summer," commented he.

"That is true, yet I do nonetheless engage in such exercise when the day is not too cold. The hills may not be covered in green, but there is a beauty to the paleness of winter nonetheless."

"Yes, there is," murmured Mr. Darcy. Though she was not looking at him, she could feel him staring at her, and she flushed. He made a slight noise to clear his throat and then commented: "Hertfordshire is pretty, I grant you, but I truly prefer the beauty of Pemberley in the spring. I am certain there is no greener place in all of England."

"You love your home, then?"

"Yes. I do."

A silence fell over them, though it was not a true silence, as the gentle scraping of skates was to be heard all around the tributary.

Elizabeth felt terribly confused. There was a part of her that truly enjoyed their time together—he was an intelligent man, and though he was often taciturn, she occasionally saw flashes of intense emotion from him. Those flashes made her feel unbalanced and made her want to reconsider her opinion of him.

But how was she to reconcile this man—the one who accepted assistance in learning how to skate, the one who had attempted to extricate her from the disaster at the Twelfth Night Ball, the one who threatened to take her breath away—with the man who she was almost certain had nearly destroyed her sister's happiness by taking Mr. Bingley from Hertfordshire?

She did not know how to feel or what to think. She only knew that she enjoyed being in his presence, even if he was—on occasion—utterly infuriating.

* * *

When Elizabeth Bennet finally returned to her sisters, Darcy left the ice, his head and his heart muddled. Why did this woman stir him to such passions? The last thing he needed was to have this intoxicating woman always on his mind. But the more he saw her, the more he felt he needed to see her. Even when he tried to sleep, he would see those playful eyes looking back at him.

Despite the overheard conversation about the eldest Miss Bennet—which he now knew to be Elizabeth—he was certain that Elizabeth Bennet was no fortune hunter. After what had happened at the Twelfth Night Ball, there was no question about what sort of person she was.

It should not have mattered to him whether or not she was a fortune hunter. He intended to marry either his cousin Anne or Miss Elia Baker. So why did the knowledge that she was not seeking a suitor only for his wealth make him feel such relief?

He was staring at the object of his thoughts when his friend Mr. Davidson approached.

"She is a lovely woman."

Darcy turned to his friend. Trying to keep his voice level, he said: "Who is?"

Mr. Davidson gave a slight shake of his head. "Come now, Darcy. You know who I mean. Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"She is certainly handsome," admitted Darcy.

"More than that," said his friend with a snort. "If I were not already married, I would be trying my hand at courting her—though I imagine she is a prize that would take some effort to win."

"I am certain whoever she marries will be fortunate indeed," acknowledged Darcy. But that person would not be him.

Even if he could not get her fine eyes out of his mind.


	36. Chapter XXXVI

**Previously:** The Bennet sisters attend an ice skating party, where Elizabeth helps Darcy, who is unfamiliar with skating. Darcy wonders why he feels so intrigued by her.

* * *

**Chapter XXXVI**

The more time Elizabeth spent in London, the more confused she was becoming, courtesy of one Fitzwilliam Darcy. She found the situation was similar to the one which had existed when Darcy had departed Hertfordshire. In fact, it was almost more blatant—in Hertfordshire, she had suspected him of simply gravitating toward her because he found her company to be more agreeable than any other available in the area. In London, however, his attentions did not wane, and although he did not allow himself to excite her expectation by showing any level of affection, he still appeared to prefer her company to any other of his acquaintance. In fact, his preference at times seemed to be at the expense of others of his acquaintance, not to mention many of the young ladies who were intent in their endeavor to become the next mistress of Pemberley.

It was not long before Elizabeth felt herself becoming somewhat of an unpopular figure at many of the events she and her sisters attended through his influence, and more than once, she found herself the recipient of an exasperated or unfriendly expression. Mr. Darcy appeared to not notice; he paid no special attention to any of the young ladies with whom he came into contact and never danced a second time with any young lady. In fact, at many events, he did not dance at all.

His practice of reserving the dinner set for her was the one thing he did not continue—he seemed to realize that such a gesture would undoubtedly appear to be an unmistakable show of favor which the vultures of the ton would not ignore.

But Elizabeth was painfully aware of their disparity in stations. Indeed, if not for Mr. Darcy and his influence, she and her sisters—and Mr. Bingley, for that matter—would not attend the breadth of higher society engagements they had had the fortune to experience that winter. Of course, Mr. Bingley was also helpful in finding them engagements, but it was apparent that he simply did not possess the influence of Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth was having the time of her life, if she were to be honest with herself. Operas and the theater had always been favorites of hers, but with the connection with Mr. Darcy, she was able to view them from the incredible vantage of a private box which Mr. Darcy always made available for their use. And the high society balls and soirees which they attended were events which boggled her mind, so fine were the musicians, the refreshments, and the fabrics of the dresses which swirled and waved around them. Elizabeth had enjoyed assemblies in Meryton in her youth, and she felt she could do so again, but she had to admit that they could in no way compare with the events of the ton.

The other effect of all these events was the attention that the Bennet sisters received from the members of the ton. As she had previously noted, Elizabeth herself was not exactly popular with the young ladies with whom they came in contact, and Jane was not much more so. Elizabeth attributed this to Jane's beauty and poise and to the disinclination those ladies felt for one whom they considered a rival.

When it came to the young men, however, the newly introduced ladies found themselves to be the center of attention. Jane, of course, had already been claimed by Mr. Bingley, and though a formal courtship had not been requested or announced, his protectiveness toward her was evident. Indeed, Elizabeth was amused on more than one occasion by the sight of Jane's beau staring down a member of a much higher social sphere while protectively holding her hand on his arm.

With Jane out of the picture—and the family's protectiveness towards Kitty (though she _did _dance with Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and some other men with whom they became particularly acquainted)—Elizabeth found more and more of the attention directed toward her. She rarely sat out a set at a ball, though many times she would have preferred to have been given that opportunity, and she was subjected to a great many young men who, in the absence of Mr. Darcy's reluctance to show her particular attention, more than made up the slack in securing her hand for dinner dances and the subsequent repasts which followed.

Unfortunately, this appeared to have a negative effect on Mr. Darcy's mood—Elizabeth noticed he would often brood after learning her hand had once again been secured for dinner—and he began to return to his form when in Hertfordshire, often securing the dance before they had even arrived. He showed no outward signs of jealousy or protectiveness, only that same maddening intensity which she felt she could interpret in several different ways. And though they began to garner attention due to his actions, he did not—or appeared not—to notice.

Then there were the dinners that they attended. Though they were at times invited to dine with other acquaintances, they primarily rotated dinner invitations between the Gardiner, Darcy, and Bingley townhouses. She learned that there was much more to the Gardiner/Darcy connection than she had ever considered before. Aunt Gardiner had informed her of their business dealings, but beyond that, there appeared to be a true friendship and confidence subsisting between them. In addition, she learned that the town in which her aunt had been raised was no more than five miles from Mr. Darcy's estate and that therefore they knew many of the same families and locations. The fact that they both considered Derbyshire to be the most beautiful of all counties was merely the best part of their mutual friendship.

It was during this season of invitations and engagements that another event of some note took place. Late in February, only a week before Elizabeth was to depart for Kent, they were attending another ball. It was at this event when Elizabeth had the misfortune to run into a young man she had hoped to never see again.

They had entered the ballroom to the familiar scene of splendor and society when she heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see the blazing eyes of Lord Trenton boring into hers.

He approached, bringing to Elizabeth's mind a predator stalking its prey, and insinuated himself directly in front of her, an accusatory expression on his face.

"What are _you_ doing here, trollop?" demanded he.

"I am attending a ball to which I have been invited, Lord Trenton," responded Elizabeth quietly. "Now, if you will excuse me—"

"I shall not! You, a mere commoner, have the audacity to strike a member of the peerage, and then you show your face before proper society as though nothing has happened?"

Elizabeth would have preferred to avoid him altogether, but her sense of outrage was aroused. Jane's presence—and her grip on Elizabeth's arm—gave her the courage to respond to her tormentor. "And you, who lay claim to the respectability of a gentleman, have the nerve to attempt to assault a gentlewoman and then attempt to place the blame on her?"

The expression on Trenton's face was almost murderous. "I should strike you where you stand, madam."

"Perhaps you should," jibed Elizabeth, affecting a confidence she did not feel. "Prove to all in attendance just exactly what manner of man you really are. You are no gentleman, Lord Trenton. Your attentions were most improper and unwanted, and I would appreciate it if you would cease your attempts to harass me."

"There will be no harassment or striking of any women here, Trenton."

Elizabeth had never been so happy to hear Darcy's voice. Trenton immediately turned toward this new threat, an expression of intense distaste etched upon his face.

"And what do you have to say on the matter, sir?"

"As Miss Bennet is a member of my party, I believe I have plenty to say. Your continuing presence is uncalled for and unwanted. I suggest you leave."

A sneer was his response. "I suppose I should not be surprised to know that _you_ are the champion to this—this—common tart."

"And _I_ should not be surprised that you would behave in such a base and ungentlemanly manner! Miss Bennet has every right to resent your actions, sir, and I highly suggest that you leave Elizabeth alone."

Trenton appeared to wish to push the matter further, but he glanced around and, seeing that they had begun to attract an audience, drew himself to his fullest arrogant manner.

"Very well. I shall overlook the slight. But I, for one, would very much prefer to never see you again."

"Believe me, sir, the feeling is very much reciprocated," replied Elizabeth coolly.

Lord Trenton cast one last imperious glance in Elizabeth's direction before stalking off in high dudgeon.

Once he was gone, Elizabeth allowed herself to sag in relief. Her arm was immediately taken by Mr. Darcy, who—with the assistance of Jane and the Gardiners, who had rushed up to her at the end—escorted her to a nearby chair.

"Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?" inquired he, pressing a flute of wine into her trembling hands.

Elizabeth nodded shakily and sipped on the wine. "I am, I thank you. I merely need to regain my equilibrium."

She nodded at Jane, who was anxiously regarding her sister. "Jane, the music is about to start. I know you are set to open the ball with Mr. Bingley—please do not concern yourself on my account."

Though she appeared dubious, Jane reluctantly agreed and allowed herself to be led off to the dance floor. The Gardiners, though, seemed reluctant to leave their niece.

"I feel I must apologize for failing to protect you again, Lizzy," intoned Mr. Gardiner. "I should have been with you to protect you from that cad."

"I pray you say nothing further," disagreed Elizabeth. "I allowed myself to become overawed by the grandeur of the hall and fell behind the rest of the party. It is my fault—and my fault alone."

The Gardiners continued to try to take the blame for the altercation, but Elizabeth would have nothing of it. It was the middle of the opening dance before she was able to make the party relax slightly by convincing them of the return of her composure.

"Miss Bennet," said Mr. Darcy after some moments had passed, "I must commend you for your bravery and ability to stand up to that man. I believe I shall never underestimate your fortitude, or I shall pay the consequences."

"Oh, Lizzy has always been thus," spoke up Kitty from Elizabeth's other side. "All the gentlemen of Hertfordshire are aware of and have a healthy respect for her strength of character."

Elizabeth could feel her cheeks become pink at the praise. "Please, Kitty, do not embarrass me."

Kitty's soft chuckles were her only reply.

For the rest of the evening, the members of Elizabeth's party kept a close watch upon her, never allowing her to wander far and risk facing Trenton alone yet again. Elizabeth was grateful for their care and attention—she wanted nothing further to do with the man.


	37. Chapter XXXVII

**Previously:** The Bennet sisters attend many events in London. Near the end of February, Elizabeth meets and has another run in with Lord Trenton, who leaves when Darcy tells him to.

* * *

**Chapter XXXVII**

Finally, the time for Elizabeth to depart for Kent drew near.

On the one hand, she was happy to have the chance to see Mary again. Mary's letters to her had been cheerful and upbeat, yet they had also been somewhat melancholy in nature, which Elizabeth attributed to her sister's missing the family with whom she had been raised. Elizabeth was looking forward to being able to cheer her sister up and provide her some companionship, which was undoubtedly somewhat lacking due to her residing in the same house with Mr. Collins and living next to the infamous Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

On the other hand, Elizabeth wished she could have remained in London for that magical winter for the rest of her life. Despite a few less than welcome events—meeting Lord Trenton came to mind!—it had primarily been an incredible collage of activities which sometimes almost blended together. While there had not been enough invitations to keep them busy _every_ night of the week (although it had often seemed to be so!), there_ had_ been enough that they were kept busy several nights of every week, a stark contrast from their past stays in London.

Elizabeth had never witnessed such a spectacle and had certainly never expected she would take part in a season in London. Whatever her feelings for the gentleman from Derbyshire consisted of, she could not help but feel thankful for the notice he had shown her and her sisters.

Elizabeth's final dinner in the company of the two gentlemen was soon to take place—it happened to be Darcy's turn in the rotation to host—and Elizabeth was dreading and anticipating it at the same time. After her departure from London, she was certain that all would change and nothing would ever again be as it was. In her mind, this would thus be the last time she would dine at his magnificent house, and her feelings on the finality of it could not be deciphered. Yet she was also looking forward to seeing him and conversing with him, for there was truly no other man of her acquaintance whose intelligence, interests, and wit matched hers so well. In short,when she left, she would miss his presence and his conversation.

In addition, she had found from her aunt that there were to be a few additions to their normal party that night, for Mr. Bingley's two elder married sisters were also to be in attendance at the Darcy townhouse that evening.

"But what can you tell us about them, Aunt?" asked Elizabeth. Mrs. Gardiner and her three nieces were gathered together in the parlor, discussing the dinner invitation for the evening.

"Little enough," was the reply. "I have not actually _met_ them, after all."

"But surely you can tell us something of them," persisted Kitty. "Are they amiable like Mr. Bingley?"

"I _could _tell you something. But perhaps I should hold my tongue and let you all take their measure on your own."

A chorus of protests met her declaration, especially from Jane, who was intensely interested in—and a little worried about—the family of the man she hoped to marry.

"I suppose you must have it, though," continued Mrs. Gardiner with an exaggerated sigh.

Elizabeth was not fooled for a moment—her aunt was undoubtedly enjoying provoking her young relations. For her to tease the three young ladies, Mrs. Gardiner must have had some interesting gossip indeed.

Elizabeth affixed a stern glare upon her aunt, who returned the look with a laugh of delight before speaking thus:

"Mr. Bingley has two sisters, and neither are in any way like their brother. The elder—named Louisa—has been married to a Mr. Hurst for these last four years. Mrs. Hurst is a quiet soul who rarely expresses an opinion of her own which has not already been conveyed by the other sister. Mr. Hurst is a landowner, and he is apparently fond of little other than food and drink, cards, and his hunting rifle.

"But it is the other sister who is the more interesting of the pair. Caroline is her name, and though I have never met her, I almost feel that I know her due to the fact that Darcy has spoken—or, dare I say it, _complained_—of her for several years now."

Jane appeared perplexed. "What would Mr. Darcy have to complain about? She is Mr. Bingley's sister after all."

"She is, in Mr. Darcy's own blunt words, a mantrap, Jane," said Mrs. Gardiner with a laugh. "Ever since she met him after Mr. Bingley graduated from Cambridge, she had the idea fixed in her head that she was to be the next Mrs. Darcy, and she pursued him shamelessly."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, earning a reproving glare from her aunt, who said: "I had understood you were reevaluating your feelings for Mr. Darcy, Lizzy."

"Oh, it is not that, Aunt," protested Elizabeth. "It is just that I have seen many a young lady set their cap at Mr. Darcy these past few months, and if his reaction to Mr. Bingley's sister was anything like his reaction to _them_, I can safely say that she could not have been pleased."

Somewhat mollified, Mrs. Gardiner agreed. "I believe you are correct, Elizabeth. Because Mr. Bingley is a very close personal friend, Mr. Darcy put up with the young lady's attentions, though he was always careful to never give her any encouragement. Unfortunately, she required no such support.

"It all came to a head about a year ago. It appears Mr. Darcy had invited Mr. Bingley to Pemberley for a visit, and as a courtesy, he invited Mr. Bingley's family to accompany him. The visit was a nightmare."

The three girls were on the edge of their seats, Elizabeth and Kitty interested in the story and—in no small amount—the follies of Mr. Bingley's sister, whereas Jane listened with a certain morbid fascination about the in-laws she was hoping to obtain. It was a very good thing that Mr. Bingley was so amiable, as it did not sound like his sisters would in any way be a "positive" part of the arrangement.

"From what Mr. Darcy told us, Caroline Bingley was arrogant and condescending, acted like the mistress of Mr. Darcy's estate, and in every way made the visit difficult for not only Mr. Darcy and his other guests, but also for the servants. Before they left, Mr. Darcy took her aside, along with Mr. Bingley, and told her in no uncertain terms that he was not interested in her and would never make her an offer of marriage."

The stunned Bennet sisters gaped at Mrs. Gardiner, each privately wondering that a person could be so oblivious and blind to not see the effect she was having on her companions. Her behavior sounded almost like it was lifted from the pages of a novel.

"Surely not," spoke Jane into the ensuing silence.

"I am afraid so, Jane," said Mrs. Gardiner. "In fact, it becomes worse. The young woman would not believe him and continued to act much the same way in company as she ever had—she clung to him, fawned over him, and reacted badly to him paying attention to any other lady.

"Finally, after repeated attempts at restating his intentions, he was forced to cut her at a London event to force her to cease her possessive behavior."

The three sisters gasped almost in unison—being cut by a man of Mr. Darcy's standing was a serious blow to any young lady.

"If that is the case, how does she now receive an invitation to dine at his house?" asked Elizabeth.

"She has lately been married," began Mrs. Gardiner, "and—"

"—is thus no longer a threat," finished Elizabeth.

"Exactly, Lizzy, my dear. I do not know much of the man she married. His name is Smith, and he has an estate in Norfolk, though not nearly as large as Mr. Darcy's. She and her husband—and her sister and her husband—have just returned from an extended trip on the continent. This is why they have been invited tonight. However, I also suspect there is a desire on the part of Mr. Bingley to introduce a certain someone to his family."

Jane blushed very becomingly, a fact which caused her sisters to tease her mercilessly until it was time for them to dress for dinner.

They arrived at Darcy's townhouse at the appropriate time and found they were the first to arrive, which was in itself an oddity—usually, when one of the gentlemen hosted the evening, the other would arrive before the Gardiners and their nieces. The Gardiner party was shown into the drawing room, where Mr. Darcy made them understand that the Bingleys were expected any moment. As was his wont, Mr. Darcy greeted the entire party warmly, and within a few moments, Elizabeth found herself engrossed in conversation with him.

They had been speaking for some time when the door opened and the new guests were shown in. Elizabeth had hardly a chance to form any sort of opinion of the newcomers when a shrill voice rang out across the room:

"Mr. Darcy! How good of you to invite us to your house—it has been far too long!"

Elizabeth saw a streak of burnt orange cross the room and attach itself to Mr. Darcy's arm, earning a raised eyebrow from the man.

The woman chattered on for several minutes, her comments full of how she had missed her "dearest friend" and how she had simply been longing to see him. These statements were supplemented by her inexhaustible supply of praise for his person, his house, his state of dress, and countless other insignificant factors vaguely concerning him.

Elizabeth exchanged glances with Mrs. Gardiner, who was barely suppressing a smirk, and Jane, whose eyes were wide and disbelieving, before glancing at Mr. Darcy, who was just in the act of rolling his eyes and trying to disengage his arm from the young woman who clutched it in her grasp.

The sound of a throat clearing loudly brought the entire room up short, and Elizabeth glanced across to see a short and somewhat portly man, likely several years older than Mr. Darcy, glaring across the room at the woman on Darcy's arm.

"Caroline, my dear," called he, his voice tight and unhappy, "will you please come over here? We have not been introduced to Mr. Darcy's guests."

Mrs. Smith immediately seemed to recollect herself, and with a slight blush on her face, she curtseyed to Mr. Darcy and moved back to stand with her husband. The introductions were made all around, and the group fell into quiet and stilted conversation. Mrs. Smith's unseemly display had put a damper on the company, and it was difficult to recover from it.

A few moments later, however, they were saved by the announcement of dinner, and Mr. Darcy led the way to the dining room, escorting Elizabeth, who still stood near him. In the dining room, he sat her to his left and offered the seat on his other side to Mrs. Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner sat with his wife and Kitty, while Jane and Bingley sat together. Rounding out the party, Mr. Bingley's sisters sat with their husbands. As the meal was served, the diners once again fell into conversation with their dinner partners.

The only silent members of the party appeared to be the Hursts—Elizabeth's aunt was right about Mr. Hurst's fixation upon the food and about Mrs. Hurst's quiet nature—and the Smiths, who were still likely thinking about what had happened in the drawing room. Though Elizabeth was sitting on the opposite side of the table, it did not take long before she noticed Mrs. Smith regarding her with what could only be termed as a glower. Unsettled and wondering what she could have done to earn the woman's enmity, Elizabeth endeavored to ignore her.

"Is Mrs. Smith bothering you, Miss Bennet?" asked a voice quietly.

Elizabeth glanced gratefully at Mr. Darcy before shaking her head. "She appears to be angry about something, Mr. Darcy, but as I know of nothing I could have done to annoy her, I shall not give it another moment's thought."

"It is probably for the best," replied he. "I suspect she is unhappy that she is not sitting at my side, but she really could not have expected anything else. She _is _married now after all."

Elizabeth laughed. "She is at that."

"I assume your aunt acquainted you with the details of her situation?"

"She did, indeed, Mr. Darcy," confirmed Elizabeth in a low voice. "I just never thought I would see such a display now that she is married. Was it much like that before?"

He responded with a grimace. "Worse, if you can believe it. I believe her behavior has been so firmly ingrained that she forgot herself for a moment—either that or she wanted repair her 'relationship' with me so she would continue to be welcome in my home."

"And what of Mr. Smith? What kind of man is he?"

Darcy frowned. "He is a good enough chap, I suppose, but to be honest, he is a bit of a twit."

Elizabeth stifled an unladylike snort of laughter at Mr. Darcy's blunt opinion, and Mr. Darcy chuckled. "He is a good landowner," clarified Mr. Darcy. "He takes care of his tenants, makes a good profit on his land, and is open to new ideas. But if you try to talk to him about anything else, he proves himself to be outmatched immediately. It is almost as though he _did not_ spend four years at Cambridge. _You_ would tire of him very quickly."

"And how would you know this?" was Elizabeth's arch reply.

His gentle smile caused the breath to catch in her throat. "Have I not conversed with you several times these past months? Have I not come to know your opinions and your intellectual capacities? I assure you, Miss Bennet, that you would be bored within minutes of beginning a conversation with him."

After dinner, Elizabeth found out that Mr. Darcy was entirely correct. After the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Elizabeth found herself within close proximity to Mr. Smith, and after being given a blank look in response to her opinion about a piece of Shakespearean poetry, Elizabeth decided right then and there never to subject him to so taxing a question again.

Still later, Elizabeth found herself in close proximity to Mrs. Smith. After a short and somewhat frosty exchange of pleasantries, Mrs. Smith said something utterly unexpected.

"You must think the worst of me, Miss Bennet," said Mrs. Smith bluntly and without preamble.

Though surprised at the other woman's manner of expressing herself, Elizabeth gathered herself to respond. "I assure you I do not, Mrs. Smith. I have only met you this evening and cannot claim to be able to form an opinion of another so quickly."

The woman's answer was bitter. "Oh, I do not doubt that Mr. Darcy has made you aware of the way I behaved in the past."

"I have heard something of what has passed between you, but I assure you that I am more than willing to base my opinion of you on your own merits rather than any hearsay."

Mrs. Smith's expression was unreadable. Elizabeth felt herself scrutinized—weighed and measured, much as a rack of lamb at the butcher's—before the woman finally relented and dropped her gaze to her folded hands with a sigh.

"I was certain that I was destined to be Mr. Darcy's wife, but now that I look back on it, I realize that I never truly knew him. It is humbling, I assure you, to know that the man whom I determined would be mine never had a jot of interest for me.

"Even after all this time, I still have trouble accepting the fact that Mr. Darcy may have an interest in another woman."

Mrs. Smith's pointed glance at Elizabeth was not missed, causing Elizabeth's own cheeks to blush in response.

"Miss Bennet, I must tell you that I have never seen Mr. Darcy gaze at any other woman with such interest as he does with you. Though he has been speaking with my brother these past ten minutes, I do not think his eyes have left your face the entire time."

Elizabeth's blush deepened, and she glanced up at the man, confirming that his eyes were affixed upon her, just as Mrs. Smith had asserted. She gathered her courage and responded:

"I assure you that you are mistaken, Mrs. Smith. Mr. Darcy and I enjoy our conversations, but that is the extent of our friendship. Mr. Darcy feels nothing more for me than I do for him."

An indelicate snort was her response. "And _I_ assure _you_, Miss Bennet, that if Mr. Darcy had even once glanced in my direction with the intensity that he has directed at you all evening, I would have purchased my wedding clothes on the spot.

"Still," continued Mrs. Smith, "I have no cause to repine, and I shall not allow my previous fancy for Mr. Darcy to affect me again. I am married to a good man who cares for me, and he has given me every reason to be happy."

Mrs. Smith rubbed her hand over her flat stomach, which caused Elizabeth to smile delightedly and extend her congratulations for the happy news. They fell into conversation, and by the end of the evening, Elizabeth felt she had gained some measure of the other woman. Although she did not feel they would ever truly be close confidantes, she found Mrs. Smith to be intelligent, agreeable, and truly willing to put her past actions and opinions to rest.

Elizabeth could not help but ponder Mrs. Smith's assertions of the gentleman's affections. It was true that Mrs. Smith had misconstrued Mr. Darcy's interest in _herself_. Why, then, should Elizabeth place any weight in what Mrs. Smith had said?

Yet there was a part of her which hoped—which wondered if Mr. Darcy's near-constant gaze and friendly conversation were significant in ways that went beyond the purely social. She had begun to push past her suspicions of his interference with Mr. Bingley—she had begun to see the warmth that he brought to her life. The man she had once considered to be so cold had somehow integrated himself in her daily routine. She looked forward to seeing him, remembered fondly their time on the ice (when she had discovered the formidable Mr. Darcy was _not_ perfect at everything!), and thought sadly of that fact that her time in London was almost over.

But even as she tentatively admitted to herself that he had become important to her—that his intent gaze could make her heart skip a beat—she feared.

Though she was a gentleman's daughter, she had nothing to offer him. As the scion of an earl, how could Mr. Darcy _ever_ be interested in her? There was too much of a chasm for that to ever happen—even if perhaps he desired it as much or more as she feared she was beginning to desire it—and it was foolish to allow her fledgling hopes to rise. The moment those hopes lifted into the air, they were surely to be dashed onto the ground.

But she could not help but turn and look at him once more. His eyes met hers, and she gave him a slight smile before turning back to Mrs. Smith. But it was hard to concentrate on the rest of their conversation—especially since she felt Mr. Darcy's gaze on her the entire time.


	38. Chapter XXXVIII

**Previously: **Elizabeth meets Mr. Bingley's sisters and their husbands, and a pregnant Caroline says she believes Mr. Darcy—whom Caroline once wished would be her husband—is interested in Elizabeth.

* * *

"I shall miss you, Lizzy," proclaimed Kitty as she hugged her sister fiercely.

"I shall miss you, too, Kitty," said Elizabeth, her eyes more than a little moist.

"Must you really leave?"

"I am sorry, Kitty, but I really must. Mary really needs me right now." Elizabeth lowered her voice so only Kitty could hear her. "I cannot imagine how she must feel right now being married to that odious man!"

Kitty managed a light chuckle, but her sightless eyes were just as misty as her eldest sister's. Elizabeth squeezed her once more before turning to Jane.

"Oh, Lizzy!" was all Jane managed before tearfully embracing her. As twins, Jane and Elizabeth hated being parted from each other—yet there was an even greater parting looming on the horizon for them that Elizabeth could not bear to consider until she was out sight of her sisters.

"I shall miss you, Jane," said Elizabeth to her sister, "but we shall see each other again before long."

"Of course," acknowledged Jane, but there was a shakiness to her voice.

"Watch over Kitty, Jane," whispered Elizabeth.

"I shall."

Trembling a little herself, Elizabeth turned and said farewell to her aunt and uncle, thanking them for allowing her to stay in London with them.

Mrs. Gardiner told her: "You are always welcome in our home, Lizzy."

And then Elizabeth was stepping up into the carriage the Gardiners had provided for her trip to Kent and waving goodbye to her sisters and the Gardiners as the horses began to move. When they were out of sight, she gave a slight nod to the maid provided by the Gardiners for her journey, and the girl smiled back at her.

Elizabeth did not trust herself to speak, so she wrapped herself in her thoughts.

Jane and Mr. Bingley seemed to be well on their way to an understanding—she only wished she could be present when it happened. She could well picture the glow on her sister's face and the smile on Mr. Bingley's—truly, they made each other so very happy, and she was glad that what had been torn was now mended.

But there was a part of her which selfishly shunned the notion of her sister's marriage. A married woman's first duty was to her husband, and all the confidences Jane and Elizabeth shared would dwindle in number when Jane was finally wed. A married woman could not invite her family over to her estate every day—and certainly Jane must not wish to do so, for even her patience was tried by Mrs. Bennet's effusions. And it would not be right of Elizabeth to constantly visit the couple herself—they needed time with each other. And when they had children, they would need to spend time with them.

Elizabeth felt new tears spring to her eyes, but if the maid saw them, she did not comment. Regardless of the time together they would lose, Elizabeth truly was happy for her sister. Jane deserved the kind Mr. Bingley, and theirs would be a life of bliss. Elizabeth could not have asked for a better man for her sister.

Thinking about Mr. Bingley made her thoughts turn toward his friend. She simply was not certain exactly what her feelings toward him were. He remained a mystery—if he was not staring at her, then he was either engaging her in lively conversation or studiously avoiding saying anything to her at all. And then, after the last dinner at his London home, he had told her that he would be going to Rosings—and that he went there for an Easter visit every year.

That information had surprised her. She had not realized she would likely be seeing him in Kent, and she found it strange that he had waited so long to tell her. Should the information not have been casually imparted days before? He had not mentioned he would be visiting Rosings any of the times she had spoken of her upcoming trip to see her newly married sister. Why would he withhold his own visit from her?

For someone who took such pleasure in sketching the characters of others, Elizabeth found she could barely make even an outline of Mr. Darcy. His behavior was puzzling, to put it lightly, and she was not certain how she should feel toward him. Should she be flattered by his scattered attentions? Should she be wary of his long silences and peculiar behavior?

She let out a light sigh, staring out the carriage window. What she needed to do was clear Mr. Darcy from her mind entirely. Whatever he was feeling, he could never seriously pursue her. There was no sense in even thinking about him as anything more than an acquaintance—and perhaps a friend.

The journey from London to Kent left Elizabeth feeling very tired, but at last she arrived at Mary's home on the third of March. It was a Tuesday, and the air was clear and the birds singing, and Elizabeth felt her spirits lighten when she saw Mary's happy face.

The two sisters embraced warmly.

"Lizzy, I am so glad to see you!" exclaimed Mary in delight. "Part of me feared you would not come."

"Nonsense," said Elizabeth as she pulled away from her sister. "I have been thinking about you, and I am glad I shall have the opportunity to see how you are situated in your new home!"

Turning, Elizabeth saw Mr. Collins glowering at her, though he placed the barest of smiles on his face when he noticed her glance. "Cous—" began he, only to correct himself, "—Sister Elizabeth."

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Collins," said Elizabeth politely, though she could not help but refute the comment in her own mind.

"Lizzy, you simply must see our home!" said Mary, gesturing to the home in question. "Lady Catherine de Bourgh has assisted in much of the decorating, and I think you will be pleased by it."

"Her ladyship is most kind to us," Mr. Collins noted stiffly, his air somewhat haughty.

Elizabeth suppressed a laugh—thinking about how Collins seemed very much the part of a petulant child—and followed her sister. The rest of the day was filled with dark looks and praises of her ladyship from Mr. Collins, but it was made bearable by the sheer joy Mary obviously felt at her sister's presence.

Elizabeth could more than handle a grumpy Mr. Collins—far better she experience _that _side of him than the more loquacious one. And so—happy for her sister, if not for Mr. Collins himself—she exclaimed over the furniture and the garden, giving continual assurances that she believed Mary was doing very well for herself as Mrs. Collins. While Elizabeth might have still had some doubts, she could ascertain that her sister _did_ seem content with her new place in life, and for that, Elizabeth was grateful.


	39. Chapter XXXIX

**Previously: **Elizabeth departs for Hunsford and thinks about her confusing relationship with Mr. Darcy.

* * *

**Chapter XXXIX**

Elizabeth's first few days in Hunsford passed in a rather unremarkable fashion. Though the Collinses lived only a lane away from the fabled property of Rosings Park and enjoyed the condescension of its residents, they were not in any way well to do, which meant that they did not enjoy the same style of life.

That this was no hardship for the practical Mary was evident, and Elizabeth rejoiced to see her settling into her new life. The circumstance was also somewhat fortuitous for Elizabeth, as it afforded her the opportunity to examine Mary—and her sister's unfortunate husband—without the interruption of others.

Mary, it appeared, was very content with her new life. She had settled into the role of a parson's wife and was diligent and careful in the performance of her duties to those in her husband's flock. Indeed, Elizabeth had never seen Mary so content before—it appeared to be the life for which she was intended, though it did not wholly surprise Elizabeth, who knew how pious Mary had always been.

More surprising to Elizabeth was evidence of a new maturity to Mary's outlook on life. Whereas previously she would have spouted banal platitudes from Fordyce's sermons with impunity, she now appeared to have gained a new appreciation for and understanding of the Lord's words. Rather than her sometimes dreary and overdone homilies which she had subjected her family to in the past, she was now more likely to quote directly from the Bible, if she did so at all. In fact, many of her opinions were more given directly from her heart than the written word, and although she remained as pious as she had been before, her words and judgments came across as those of a caring and intelligent young woman rather than being filled with the self-righteousness which had often seemed to be her most prevalent trait. Elizabeth found she liked the new Mary very well indeed.

As for Mary's marriage to and relationship with Mr. Collins, Elizabeth saw nothing to give her concern and everything to give her hope that all was well on that front. Mr. Collins actually appeared to be a very good husband to her, contrary to what Elizabeth would have expected. He treated her with courtesy and deference, always listening to her opinions and giving her his own with perfect grace, if less than perfect intelligence.

As for Mr. Collins himself, he was basically the same man in essentials—he was unfortunately still quite thick-witted, tended toward grandiose pronouncements, and carried himself with a pomposity which would not have been warranted were he the prince regent himself. Yet though neither his mind nor his manners were improved, it was clear that in the short time of their marriage, he was already deferring to her and allowing her to guide him. In this manner, Mary was directing him and allowing him to be his own man, while perhaps avoiding some of the embarrassment which undoubtedly would have been hers had he ignored her advice. Elizabeth could not account for it—she would have expected him in his pomposity and his assurance of his own superiority to brush off anything Mary might have said. But though it was the exact opposite of what she would have expected, Elizabeth was pleased for her sister. The arrangement undoubtedly made her life much more agreeable than it otherwise would have been.

Mr. Collins did _not_ have much to say to Elizabeth herself—from the time of her arrival throughout the first week of her stay, he was coldly polite and distant to her, never exerting himself to say much beyond the usual civilities. Though she was not quite able to account for his behavior, Elizabeth was not in the habit of questioning something which brought her peace. Mary tolerated his idiosyncrasies and more than occasional stupidity; Elizabeth knew she would have been tempted to strangle him within the first fortnight had their roles been reversed.

As it took only a few days to determine that Mary was happy, Elizabeth subsequently allowed herself to enjoy her stay. The parsonage was comfortable and well laid out, and it was infectious and pleasing to Elizabeth to see Mary's delight in showing her the rooms, decorations, furniture, and everything else which made the place a home. The garden around the house was quite large and very beautiful, even in the early spring, and Elizabeth spent happy hours there reading a book or walking and talking with her sister. And when the closeness of the house—or the presence of its master—became too much, the woods around Rosings Park were exquisite, and Elizabeth took many opportunities to walk out and lose herself amongst its paths.

She had been in Kent for almost a week when the first invitation arrived to dine with the family at Rosings that Sunday after church. Or, rather, when the _summons_ to dine with them arrived, Elizabeth thought with a smirk after she had had an opportunity to peruse the note. Clearly, Lady Catherine was not a woman who requested; she demanded and expected to be obeyed, especially by the obsequious person of her cleric.

The walk to the manor house was accomplished with the accompaniment of Mr. Collins's long-winded monologue concerning the glories of Rosings Park. Nothing was beneath his notice—from the number of windows and the amount the owner had spent upon them, to the color of the roof tiles, to the comfortably arranged and eminently fine furniture, to the number of servants the estate employed. And though Elizabeth thought his discourse—the discussion of the wealth of _others_—was in poor taste, she tried not to pay attention to his rambling raptures and instead concentrate on the delightfully vibrant countryside in which the estate was situated.

As they were accepted in through the main doors of the house, Elizabeth peered around at the interior with great interest. As she had expected, the materials used in the house's construction were the finest, built with the best workmanship money could buy. Then, as they were led through the house, the glimpses she caught of the various rooms told a slightly different story. The furniture was undoubtedly fine, but by and large it appeared to be massive, with excessively ornate filigree carved upon its surfaces—undoubtedly fine, but overly pretentious to Elizabeth's taste.

When they had at last been led to a large drawing room, they were admitted to the presence of the lady and her daughter. Although Elizabeth had not precisely expected it, she found that there were others present in the persons of a young couple.

They were introduced as James and Elia Baker, and though Elizabeth would have automatically assumed they were a young landowner and his wife, Elizabeth quickly realized that their resemblance to one another meant that they were brother and sister.

"I apologize for the surprise, Lizzy," said Mary to her in a low tone. "I had not realized Lady Catherine meant to invite the Bakers tonight."

Regarding her sister fondly, Elizabeth grasped and squeezed her hand. "Do not concern yourself, Mary. After all, neither you nor I can have any influence on such a great lady in the matter of who she deigns to invite for a dinner party."

At Mary's responding wry smile, Elizabeth continued: "What can you tell me of them?"

"Mr. Baker is the master of Stauneton Hall, which lies on the other side of Hunsford from Rosings Park. It is a moderately large estate of some rumored six-thousand pounds per annum. Mr. Baker and his sister are the only surviving members of their family—their parents and a younger sibling died during an outbreak of cholera some ten years ago, leaving Mr. Baker as the master of the estate at the tender age of fourteen. His sister Elia is two years his senior, and is quite... interesting in her conversation."

Elizabeth peered at her sister, wondering at her description of the young lady, but her attention was caught by the loud and imperious (and obnoxious) voice of Lady Catherine demanding they pay their respects.

"Mrs. Collins!" said the great lady. "Please do not skulk in the door—we have been acquainted long enough to make such hesitance unnecessary."

"My apologies, Lady Catherine," replied Mary with a hint of deference; any hint of intimidation, however, was decidedly _not_ present, a fact which encouraged Elizabeth. "I was merely speaking with my sister."

Lady Catherine sniffed but motioned them to come closer. "Ah, yes—I do recall that your sister was coming to visit you. Well, do not stand there in awe; come forward so that I may know her better."

Her manner was nothing less than should have been expected from the stories Mr. Collins had told of her, but it also did nothing to endear her to Elizabeth. That she was a pompous and meddlesome old woman with a very high opinion of herself and an exaggerated sense of her own importance was immediately evident.

However, unwilling to offend her sister's patroness, Elizabeth approached and made her curtsy to the lady.

"Lady Catherine, this is my sister Elizabeth Bennet; Elizabeth is my eldest sister."

Feeling the lady's eyes boring into her, Elizabeth returned her frank and appraising look with a placid one of her own. This overbearing woman would _not_ intimidate Elizabeth Bennet!

"Indeed. I have heard much of you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Your sister has distinguished herself as Mr. Collins's wife and mistress of his home—I do hope that you are cut from the same cloth."

Though she betrayed no reaction, Elizabeth wondered if there was censure in the Lady's words to herself, or if she were merely behaving as one who held herself superior was wont. Deciding it did not matter—Lady Catherine's approbation, or lack thereof, was nothing to her, after all—she curtseyed and responded thus:

"Thank you, Lady Catherine. I always knew Mary would acquit herself well in her new role. I am happy to hear that you feel likewise."

The Lady smiled—a supercilious smirk—and turned her attention to Mr. Collins, who made his obeisance to her with his usual obsequious manner. Elizabeth turned with Mary and made the acquaintance of Anne de Bourgh and the Baker siblings, engaging in conversation with them.

In Anne de Bourgh, she found a sickly young lady who was nevertheless interested in her and willing to enter into a pleasant conversation. It was moments into their discussion when Anne made a comment which confused Elizabeth exceedingly.

"I am glad you have joined us, Miss Bennet. I believe another addition to our party will be a welcome one; after all, the only other young woman of my age in the area is Miss Baker, and with your sister always engaged in the concerns of the neighborhood, as is her duty, we only have each other for company. I look forward to getting to know you."

"Given the company, I would have thought you would have heard all about me, Miss de Bourgh."

Anne snorted indelicately into her hand and cast a disparaging glare in the direction of the parson. "Perhaps if I were my mother—he tells her _everything_, after all—but I do not have much to do with your cousin."

A twinkling smile was Elizabeth's reply. "Yes, he can be rather tedious."

"Downright sycophantic," was Anne's less than kind response. "I am afraid that Mr. Collins and I do not see eye to eye, and I find his behavior around my mother to be disgraceful. Of course, she enjoys his attention, but I prefer a parson to be of a stronger and more forceful sort and, as a result, better able to care for those under his influence. Mr. Collins does not sneeze without my mother's permission, making him nothing of the sort."

Elizabeth stifled a giggle at this—all too true—rendition of her cousin. "I see that you and I are of one mind on this subject."

The ladies shared a smile, and they began to speak of other matters. Within a few moments, the Bakers had joined the conversation—having previously been involved in a discussion with Mary, who had been called away to attend Lady Catherine—and Elizabeth began to know them better as well. The young man, Mr. Baker, Elizabeth immediately identified as someone who had a very high opinion of his own charms, although he did not appear to be a _complete_ rake, unlike some others Elizabeth could name. He _was_ a pleasant conversationalist, however, and clearly intelligent, and as he did not allow his flirting to cross any boundaries of propriety, Elizabeth was content.

Elia Baker was another sort of person altogether. She was kind and pleasant and appeared almost eager to meet and converse with the new members of the party. She was very beautiful, with long, flaxen hair, green eyes, and a bubbly personality—it was truly a wonder why she was not yet married. At twenty-six, she could almost be considered to be on the shelf.

However, although Elizabeth immediately liked the young woman, she quickly understood what Mary had meant with her cryptic statements about the woman's conversation. She was, in a word, quite flighty, and she sometimes made comments which appeared to show a rather shocking lack of understanding and—sometimes—almost stupidity. For instance, when Elizabeth and Anne had begun to converse about music, Elia burst in with a comment to the effect that she really did enjoy music, as it was so "very musical." Elizabeth looked on her in wonder at the rather stupid comment, but Anne merely rolled her eyes and continued blithely on, ignoring her completely.

It was not long before the company was called into the dining room for dinner. As Elizabeth would have expected, the cuisine was fine, the conversation was dominated by Lady Catherine, and the flattery was commanded by Mr. Collins. However, with her new friends and her sister at her side, Elizabeth found she was quite content. Rosings was turning out much as she had expected.


	40. Chapter XL

**Previously:** Elizabeth befriends the sickly Anne de Bourgh and the somewhat stupid Elia Baker, though she is not impressed by Lady Catherine.

* * *

**Chapter XL**

The next day, Elizabeth was invited to Rosings for tea with Anne de Bourgh. Mary was busy attending to a sick parishioner, so Elizabeth was to go without her. However, Elizabeth knew to expect Elia Baker, and she was curious to see whether the young woman would continue to make occasional inane comments or whether the previous day was unusual.

The weather was glorious and clear, and Elizabeth very much enjoyed the short walk—in part because it was unmarred by the presence of Mr. Collins, who seemed to appear at the most inopportune times in a gloomy cloud of dark looks and grumbled greetings.

At Rosings, she sat down to tea with Miss de Bourgh and Miss Baker. Both women seemed genuinely glad to see her, and the latter said to her: "I do hope you had no difficulties in your journey here today, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth frowned. "I did not, thank you. My sister's home is not far from here at all."

"But there are so many tragedies which can befall a young woman walking," persisted Miss Baker. "A bootlace can break, a dress can rip, and an ankle can twist. I am always so pleased when these misfortunes do not come to pass."

Elizabeth glanced briefly at Anne de Bourgh and then back at the other woman. With a slight smile, she said: "I assure you—I am a strong walker, and it is very seldom that I have experienced any such misfortune as those you have listed."

"I am glad to hear that," said Miss Baker warmly. "I daresay Miss de Bourgh has the proper idea, as she does not venture outside unless she is to ride in her phaeton."

Elizabeth saw the tight look on Anne de Bourgh's face, and she felt sympathy well up within her for the sickly young woman. Lady Catherine's daughter did not have much choice in her mode of travel—she was not well enough of body to go traipsing about the countryside as Elizabeth did. Miss Baker's remark was somewhat insensitive, yet Elizabeth was not certain if the flighty woman recognized that.

"Well," said Elizabeth, uncertain what to say to alleviate the sudden tension, "I am certain the view of the area around Rosings looks just as appealing from the inside of a phaeton as it does outside of it. But there are certainly a multitude of indoor pursuits to keep one entertained. Do you paint, Miss de Bourgh?"

After giving a somewhat wary look to Miss Baker, Anne de Bourgh answered: "I do paint a little, though I have not dedicated the time to it which might be desirable."

"Your paintings are lovely," said Miss Baker, "but I must say that I do rather dislike the activity. Paint is very wet, and it does drip so."

Elizabeth refrained from commenting on this; instead, she turned the conversation to other matters.

They all spent a pleasant afternoon together, but there were those strange recurring moments of tension interspersed with the same displays of Miss Baker's lack of understanding which had occurred the day before. Though Anne de Bourgh and Elia Baker seemed friendly enough with each other, they also appeared to tread carefully around one another. Elizabeth was not certain of the reason for such wariness, but she tried to keep the conversation light, and both ladies looked as if they were enjoying themselves.

The afternoon did not remain idyllic for long, however, as Lady Catherine eventually joined their party. "Anne," said she, "you must be careful not to overexert yourself with conversation. Miss Bennet, I am certain you find my daughter to be an excellent conversationalist, and I am sure you appreciate the honor of speaking with her—she is very generous with her time, condescending to speak with those below her station—but I am afraid her poor health does not allow her to stay out of her chambers for long."

"I am fine, Mother," said Miss de Bourgh with what Elizabeth believed was a note of consternation in her voice.

"Nonsense, Anne. You need to rest. At least sit quietly for a while until you gain a little of your color."

Elizabeth looked at the young woman. While Anne de Bourgh _was_ pale, she was no paler than she had been when Elizabeth arrived. They had been seated for most of their time together, so there was no particular reason for the young woman to be feeling peakish. There was no cause for alarm. Elizabeth was about to open her mouth to try to say as much when her ladyship spoke again:

"Certainly, I do plan to see my dear Anne very well situated soon. Indeed, it will be a happy day when the estates of Rosings and Pemberley are united."

Elizabeth felt something strange rise up in her chest, but she quickly smothered it. Lady Catherine, oblivious to her reaction, continued to talk: "You know, Miss Baker, I do have such high hopes for my daughter's future with Mr. Darcy. He does dote on her so. Why, I have seen her frequently immersed in the book he was so kind to give her the last time he visited. They say Shakespeare is the food of love, and I would say my dear Anne is a proficient in Shakespeare."

Elizabeth looked to the two other women. There was almost a grimness to Elia Baker's face, though it disappeared as soon as she noticed Elizabeth's regard. Anne de Bourgh, however, was steadily avoiding looking at everyone, a slight redness to her cheeks.

"He has not proposed yet," murmured Anne at last.

Lady Catherine waved a dismissive hand, though she seemed slightly irked. "It is only a matter of time. Mr. Darcy knows it was the dearest wish of his late mother. She and I planned the union while they were in their cradles. He knows it is his duty to maintain the family's exalted status. He understands the debasement he would bring to himself and his noble line by marrying one of lesser station."

Elizabeth might have imagined it, but it seemed as though Lady Catherine's gaze flicked briefly toward Elia Baker before returning to Anne.

"I heard one of the gardeners was having trouble with those pretty little flowers," said Miss Baker suddenly and airily. "What are they called again? I am afraid I can never remember."

At this chance to illustrate her knowledge—and, Elizabeth thought, give more evidence of her officious nature—Lady Catherine began to discuss the details of the flowers in question, extolling their virtues and the well-meaning efforts of the gardener in question.

When it was finally time for Elizabeth to depart for Mary's home, she could not help but feel relieved. Spending much time in the presence of Lady Catherine was draining, especially since her ladyship appeared to be displeased with Elia Baker. Elizabeth herself was by no means left untouched by the Lady's displeasure; Lady Catherine took care to criticize her upbringing, her posture, and even her skills on the pianoforte (though she had not yet heard Elizabeth play).

Through it all, Elizabeth held herself proud and steady, realizing it was part of the woman's meddlesome nature. Only when she was at the parsonage did she allow herself to consider what her ladyship had said. Foremost on her mind was what Lady Catherine had claimed about Anne de Bourgh's being Mr. Darcy's intended. Was it true? Did he intend to marry his cousin? Elizabeth was aware that duty was of supreme importance to the proud man. Did he intend to perform his duty? And why did she feel it was crucial that she know for certain?


	41. Chapter XLI

**Previously:** Elizabeth has tea with Elia and Anne and sees that the two women seem somewhat wary toward each other. Lady Catherine comes and notes the union she and Darcy's mother had planned for him and Anne, though Darcy has not proposed.

* * *

**Chapter XLI**

Meryton. It was the same old town he remembered from his time there almost five years before, and it looked as though those intervening years had not changed it in the slightest. Of course, Meryton was not unlike any other small market town which could be found in any corner of the kingdom, and this one was typical of all the rest, containing dusty streets which turned into a veritable quagmire after a rainfall, small shops which had little or no quality or charm to them, and ordinary locals—dull, simple people whose lives were just as drab and boring as the town in which they lived.

Still, Meryton—and any other town like it—was nothing more than a means to an end for an enterprising young man such as himself. And at this point in his history, enterprising was exactly what he needed to be.

Though he had never been rich—no thanks to _some_ people he could name—until recently he had been holding his own, with the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Then, after a bad streak of luck with cards and a few poor choices at the horseracing track—not to mention a few nights of pleasure in establishments best left to the imagination—his hard-won resources had been all but depleted. With no other choice, he left his establishment—leaving behind a certain amount of debt as well, he thought with a laugh—and set out into the world to make his fortune… again.

It was not as though this part of the chase did not have its enjoyable aspects—in fact, the chase was almost as enjoyable as the feeling of having several thousand pounds to your name once the chase had concluded. There were always people to swindle, credit to run up, and perhaps a few widows or maidens with whom he felt duty-bound to share his many charms. And if they had money, so much the better.

But in some respects, the chase and all that came with it was just a bother, and one which he wished he did not have to pursue. The same feminine delights could be had at the many establishments he frequented, and as for the other things, he would just as soon spend his time at the gambling tables. No, the chase was a means to an end, not the end itself, and though he would have preferred not to be required to do it, his circumstances and appetites—not to mention his tendency to go through money as though it were water—necessitated his performing as he must.

Thus, the reader might question what he was doing back in Meryton. It had already been canvassed and found to be wanting—he would better spend his time in another part of the kingdom where he was not so well known and where prospects were far more abundant. But the chase this time had been difficult and fruitless thus far, and as he still had a certain amount of money to his name, he was ready to break from his search to conduct a conquest which promised more than a little pleasure.

Over the past five years, he had often found his mind wandering back to this small and insignificant little speck which barely appeared on any map. And it was not the thought of past triumphs, conquests, or extraordinary luck in gaming that kept his mind wandering either. It was the one who got away.

She had been a pretty little thing less than five years before, and his time "courting" her had been most enjoyable, for she had been different than most other young women of her age. For one, she was not the shrinking violet who blushed prettily while agreeing with every word which proceeded out of his mouth—his wife, to his mingled amusement and disgust, had been _very much_ that sort of woman. No—this woman had been intelligent and unafraid to show her intelligence by challenging his opinions and stating her own with decided confidence. _That_ in and of itself set her apart from just about any other young lady of her station and would make her surrender all the more satisfying.

Now, after five more years of maturity, he could hardly imagine how she would appear, but he was wagering that her youthful prettiness had grown into an uncommon beauty, and he very much wished to sample what she had to offer. It truly was too bad that she had not had the monetary inducements necessary to satisfy his needs.

He strode into town, his posture and bearing the confident strut he had carefully cultivated over the years, and frequented a few of the shops, just enough to observe and gather information. A taphouse was visited, wherein he enjoyed the comfort of a frothy ale to wash away the dust of the road while encouraging the less-than-sober locals to impart whatever intelligence they possessed. It was only a short time later when he had heard all he needed to know; he then quietly left town and, mounting the horse he had left tied to a tree just on the city's outskirts, took the road heading north.

The journey was barely a mile from Meryton and took only a few minutes on his sturdy horse, and when the sight of the manor came into his view, he smiled unpleasantly before schooling his features into his normal customary charming demeanor—also carefully cultivated. He dismounted in front of the door and knocked, handing his card to the maid who answered.

In only a few moments, the maid had returned, and he was led into the well-remembered parlor to greet the inhabitants.

"Mr. Wickham!" exclaimed the matron loudly in her normal shrill tone.

He smiled and greeted her with aplomb, noting that only one of the girls seemed to be in evidence—the youngest one, unless he missed his guess; he could not even remember her name.

"How do you do, madam?"

"I do very well, Mr. Wickham. I had not heard that you were again in the area."

"I have just recently returned, Mrs. Bennet, and am very glad to see you again. Is your family all well?"

"They are, indeed, Mr. Wickham."

Her face clouded over, and she regarded him with a scowl. "And how is Mrs. Wickham?"

It had taken the woman longer than he had thought, but it appeared the memory of his time in Meryton had finally penetrated the fog of Mrs. Bennet's mind. It was clear a certain amount of flattery, combined with some well-induced pity, was in order to win over the clueless woman.

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Wickham is no longer among the living, Mrs. Bennet," replied he, allowing a glum expression to fall over his face.

Mrs. Bennet appeared to be taken aback. "I am very sorry to hear that, sir. Please accept the condolences of my entire family."

"I thank you, madam. It was a tragic loss, really. Mrs. Wickham, who had recently found out she was with child, went out riding and was killed when her horse spooked and threw her to the ground. And I was so looking forward to becoming a father…"

Appearing enthralled by the tale, Mrs. Bennet clucked her tongue and murmured her sympathy for his loss, to which Mr. Wickham thanked her, allowing silence to fall over the three of them.

At length, Mrs. Bennet roused herself to call for tea, and sitting once again in her chair, she looked at him with frank appraisal.

"In spite of your loss, sir, you appear remarkably well. I understand Mrs. Wickham was heiress to an estate in Surrey. How do you find life as a gentleman running an estate?"

"Very well indeed, madam," replied Wickham, laughing inside at the thought that he had never spared a moment's time for the upkeep of the estate. He was above such matters, after all. "The estate is very prosperous, and though it does consume a certain amount of my time, I have an excellent steward to assist in its running." More lies—the estate his wife had inherited was nowhere near prosperous enough to warrant a steward, and he had sold it two years ago to fund his activities.

A manic gleam of greed appeared in Mrs. Bennet's eyes, and she gazed at him with calculation, exactly as he had intended for her to.

"So, do you mean to come and ask after Lizzy?" at last spoke up the young girl at Mrs. Bennet's side. "Perhaps you have changed your mind and wish to pursue her again?"

"Oh, hush, Lydia," was Mrs. Bennet's reply.

Lydia! That was the girl's name. She appeared to be about the age that her sister had been when he had been here before. _And_ she was quite comely, he noted after a moment's study. She also appeared to be blessed with similar womanly attributes to her elder sister, while possessing less than a fraction of said sister's intelligence—perhaps there were other avenues of pleasure to pursue while he was here.

"Do not concern yourself, madam," said he, unconcerned over the girl's words. "I _had_ thought to call concerning your family, after all. I hope they are well?"

"They are, sir," responded Mrs. Bennet. "But at present, only my Lydia is at home."

_That_ did not sound promising. If she was already married…

"Yes, Mr. Wickham, only I am home," echoed Lydia with a little smirk and a considering eye. "Jane and Kitty are in London with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, while Mary and Lizzy are in Kent—Mary has lately married, and Elizabeth is visiting her. I am afraid I am the only one of my sisters available to greet you, sir."

A relieved Wickham smiled in response—she truly was far more forward than she should have been at her age.

But Wickham was far more interested in the information she had about her eldest sister. Elizabeth—the one who had resisted his advances—was still unattached. There was an opportunity there, and it was one which he would not pass up.

"Ah, Kent—a beautiful county it is."

"Are you familiar with the country?" queried Mrs. Bennet.

"Indeed, I am," replied Wickham. "Pardon me, but who has your sister married?"

"She has married my husband's cousin, Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins is the rector at Hunsford parsonage, and his patroness is Lady Catherine de Bourgh. As Mr. Collins is the heir to Longbourn due to the entail, she will be the mistress of this house after I am gone."

Hunsford! Wickham smiled at the thought. So, Elizabeth was in Hunsford, not a mile or two from the great estate of Rosings, one which he had visited as a boy in the company of his godfather's son, Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Wickham nearly scowled at the thought of the man—Darcy was certainly no friend of his, though they had not had contact in some time now. Still, Wickham made it a point to never forget anyone who had wronged him—and the payback he owed the master of Pemberley was long overdue. And given the man's many faults and offenses against Wickham, that revenge merited special consideration and just the right amount of vindictiveness.

But back to Elizabeth—it truly did not matter _where_ she was when he pursued her, and Kent would suffice in every way, for he also had business in Kent. With any luck at all, Elizabeth Bennet would soon be his in every way possible. He might even keep her—she affected him like no other ever had, after all.

After he had received his desired intelligence, he conversed easily with the ladies until the time for a polite visit had elapsed. Having put up with her for the past half hour, he now considered Lydia Bennet flighty and stupid, not worth his time to pursue—not when there were greater treasures to obtain. Mrs. Bennet invited him to stay for dinner, but considering the fact that Elizabeth had been her father's favorite, he doubted the master of the estate would appreciate his attendance. He declined, saying he had business in town that evening and giving her every assurance he would call again later in the week. Of course, he had no intention of ever keeping that promise.

Only moments later, he was back on his horse, pointed toward London and the challenge which waited beyond. There was enough time left, he thought, to make it to an inn he remembered on the outskirts of town which was known for its fine ale and even finer maids. There, he would stay a day or two and plan his next move. His stop at Longbourn had turned out to be very profitable indeed.


	42. Chapter XLII

**Previously:** Wickham goes to Longbourn to see Elizabeth, and he learns she is at Kent. He resolves to go there.

* * *

**Chapter XLII**

James Baker stared outside the window of his study at Stauneton Hall, deep in thought. A small smile was tugging at his mouth—one might almost have called it a smirk. His fingers lightly held a piece of paper covered in the neat writing of a male hand—and it was this piece of paper that his thoughts swirled around.

The arrival of a letter from Fitzwilliam Darcy did not come as a surprise to James Baker. In fact, though they did not correspond very often, he had been expecting the man to write him. Baker had sent him a letter not long before due to his sister's insistent—dare he say nagging?—urging. Elia had wanted to know when Darcy would be returning to Rosings, and Baker had not been uninterested in attaining knowledge of such information himself. After all, when Darcy was gone, Baker had to listen to his sister bemoan the man's absence. At least having some assurance of Darcy's return would decrease the frequency of his sister's complaints, though it would by no means completely quell them. And Baker was not wholly opposed to spending time with Darcy—or even Darcy's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam—due to the dearth of male companionship in the area. Given the interest Darcy seemed to have in Baker's sister, it was to be expected that the Bakers and the Darcys would be on friendly terms.

No, it was not surprising that Darcy had written him. The majority of the contents of the letter were unremarkable as well. Darcy noted how he would be at Rosings before long for his Easter visit, and Baker had smirked a little at that when reading it. Darcy was obviously a slave to Lady Catherine de Bourgh's whims, though perhaps it was telling that he had not arrived as soon as her ladyship would have wished.

Despite these details—the information concerning Darcy's arrival date was something he would have to impart to his sister, and that caused him a small measure of relief at the prospect of having some respite from her pining—he found most interest in something that was seemingly insignificant. At least, it would appear insignificant to someone who did not know Darcy.

The letter mentioned that Darcy knew Rosings would likely be having other visitors and that he hoped they were doing well. There even almost seemed to be a question in that—as if Darcy wanted a response ensuring him that these "visitors" were indeed well.

Baker knew very well that Rosings had only had one visitor of late, and that was Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Mr. Collins appeared to hold some grudge against the woman—and Baker had his suspicions as to why that might be—yet he had revealed, with some prodding from Baker, that Miss Bennet was a gentleman's daughter, but one without much of a dowry to speak of. For Darcy to take such an interest in her—for him to not only know her itinerary, but to also inquire about her well-being—well, it was interesting, to say the least.

He dropped the letter onto his desk, where it lay among countless other scattered documents. In fact, "amusing" might be a better word than "interesting." If Darcy was indeed interested in Miss Bennet—and Baker could not exactly blame him, as the woman was quite handsome and quick with her tongue—then Elia's plans for her future as the mistress of Pemberley might dissipate swiftly indeed. The letter had almost made it seem as if Darcy were more concerned with Elizabeth than Elia. And considering Darcy had appeared to be on the verge of proposing to Elia, that meant matters in Kent were going to become very heated soon.

Baker smiled to himself—no, it was definitely a smirk this time—and swept out of his study. His sister was down the hall and saw him, and she came quickly toward him.

"Have you heard anything from Mr. Darcy?" asked she breathlessly.

"He will be here in a few weeks. He will probably arrive either the 16th or 17th."

"You are certain he is coming, James?" persisted she.

"Yes," answered he, wiping a hand over his brow. "He will be here." If not to see you, then to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he thought to himself in amusement.

"Oh! I must have a new dress made!" exclaimed Elia.

"Yes, yes," said he, waving a hand dismissively as he walked away. "Have a dozen dresses made. Just be a little more careful with your budget this time."

"James!" called out she after him. "I wished to talk to you more about my dresses!" But he ignored her and continued on.

* * *

Elia watched her brother's departure carefully. When she was certain he was gone—and she could see easily that he did not wish to talk to her, so he would likely be avoiding her presence for a while—she looked around to make certain no one was watching, and then she slipped into his study, closing the door behind her. Immediately, she went to her brother's desk, and after searching through the assortment of papers, she found one with a familiar signature on it. The letter from Mr. Darcy.

She quickly folded the letter and tucked it into her reticule. As messy as her brother was, it was doubtful he would miss it for a while. But she did not wish to be caught going through his documents—though she did it quite often—so she decided to take it into the sitting room to read. The only person who might have questioned her looking at a letter was her brother, and he did not wish to talk to her about dresses, so she would not be seeing him for a while.

Smiling to herself, she went into the sitting room and settled down with the letter. She perused it quickly once, frowned, and then went back over it again. Her face tightened as she stared at a specific portion of the letter. He had to be asking about Elizabeth Bennet. And Elia knew immediately that he would not inquire as to the health of a country nobody if he was not interested in her.

A part of her wanted to cry out at the injustice of it—to wring her hands and perhaps even rip the letter into shreds. But she restrained herself. She had not worked so hard at ensnaring the master of Pemberley only to have herself thwarted by someone lower on the social sphere than herself. Elia might not have been as high up socially as Anne de Bourgh, but she certainly towered above Elizabeth Bennet.

She would simply have to think of new ways to capture Mr. Darcy. That was all. She amused him—she knew she did—and she would remind him of that when he came to Kent.

She was mired in these thoughts when two visitors—Anne de Bourgh and Elizabeth Bennet—were announced. Her eyes wide, Elia realized she had lost track of time. She had completely forgotten they would be arriving so soon. She hurriedly hid Mr. Darcy's correspondence, hoping they did not notice her movements. She stood and smiled at them, greeting them kindly.


	43. Chapter XLIII

**Previously:** James Baker receives a letter from Darcy which he interprets as asking after Elizabeth. Elia snoops and interprets the letter in the same manner, as Elizabeth and Anne arrive for a visit.

* * *

**Chapter XLIII**

Anne de Bourgh was not a fool.

She had been sickly all her life, and although several of the best and brightest physicians had been hired to examine her, none had been able to offer a definitive answer as to why she was so frequently ill, and so her malady remained unknown. It was chalked up to a weak constitution and a tendency toward catching colds and agues that swept through the neighborhood from time to time, robbing her of any vitality she might feel and subjecting her to a lonely and somewhat solitary existence. Her mother, eager as she was to control everything and everyone, had used Anne's malady ever since she could recall to restrict her pursuits and curtail any kind of exercise she may have wished to undertake, even though at times Anne had felt that a little exercise would do her a world of good.

As a result of her forced inactivity, Anne had developed the ability to closely observe events about her. She knew the moment Elizabeth Bennet had entered her mother's sitting room that the young woman was a person of decided opinions and intelligence (not to mention a high degree of confidence), and an evening spent in conversation had not disabused that notion. Though it was true Miss Bennet was well below Anne in terms of societal consequence, such things did not mean _as much_ to Anne as they did to _her mother_, and she found herself grateful for the younger woman's presence and friendship to break the monotony.

In contrast, Elia Baker—who Anne had known for some time—was a much flightier creature, prone to somewhat idiotic actions and comments, something which Anne found tiresome at times. Yet Anne could often see something else in Elia—a gleam in her eye, a forced quality to her inane comments, or a studied nonchalance when a discussion turned serious. All this told Anne that although Elia was decidedly silly and rather uninformed, she was also quite conniving. The way she had behaved around Darcy seemed to suggest that the woman had designs upon him.

_This_ was something Anne could not countenance. Darcy was _her_ betrothed and _her _cousin. Anne expected—depended upon!—Darcy doing his duty and making her an offer, saving her from the casual tyranny of her mother. Nothing else would do!

Thus, when they were shown into the sitting room at Stauneton Hall, Anne's trained eye was immediately able to discern that Elia held a letter of some sort. Given Elia's reaction when they had entered the room—hurriedly and concealing then slipping the letter into a crevice in the couch—it was not something she wished her guests to see. And as Elia had known Elizabeth for only a week—thus making it unlikely that she had something she wished to keep from the younger woman—it seemed natural to conclude that the letter was specifically not intended for _Anne's_ eyes. The irony of the situation was not lost on Anne—if Elia had simply closed the letter and put it aside, Anne would not have thought anything of it, but the woman had foolishly drawn attention to it. The woman's incessant stupidity had tripped her up!

Burning with curiosity—while at the same fearing it had to do with Darcy—Anne greeted her friend with an unaffected manner, and the three sat down and began to converse.

Anne had to admit that whatever faults Elia possessed, she was a consummate hostess, adept at putting her guests at ease and attentive to their comfort. Within moments of the guests' arrival, a tea service had been delivered, and the three ladies sat with their refreshments and enjoyed their discussions.

At least, Anne _tried_ to enjoy them. Worried as she was over the contents of the letter that she could even now see poking out from the corner of the cushion—tantalizing and tempting her with its mere presence—Anne could find no true enjoyment in the proceedings. She had long been suspicious of Elia's intentions toward Darcy, and she felt that if she could get her hands upon the letter, she would finally be able to confirm her conjectures and warn the woman off.

Just when she thought she would go mad with the desire to know, her salvation came in a summons for the mistress of the house to attend to some matter with the servants.

"Oh, I do hate having to deal with the servants," said Elia with a frown. "They are so lowborn and uncouth. If they were of higher breeding, it would make things so much easier."

And with that piece of inanity, Elia departed, leaving the two guests alone in the room together. Anne and Elizabeth exchanged a significant glance—neither commenting that if the servants _had_ been higher born, they would _not_ be servants—and then settled in, making small conversation while waiting for their hostess' return.

At length, they had run out of subjects, and to Anne's delight, Elizabeth said something about inspecting the pianoforte on the other side of the room. She then wandered over to the instrument, leaving Anne with the perfect opportunity to do what she had been desperate to do since arriving.

Carefully, listening to make sure the mistress was not approaching the room, Anne spared a glance at the young Miss Bennet, who was running her fingers over the keys of the instrument. Thankful for the lack of attention, Anne eased to the side of the couch and slipped the letter from its position and opened it up.

She recognized the handwriting immediately; though she and her cousin were not regular correspondents, she had seen a fair few of his letters—some of them addressed to her, though most were directed toward her mother. Not having the time for a leisurely read, she skimmed down the letter's length and noted some of the passages.

London engagements... visitors to Rosings... Easter... pray that you and your sister are well... Elia!

Anne stopped reading and glared at the offending letter, seeing the name of the woman she suspected of duplicity emblazoned upon the page as though it was monogrammed and embossed in gold. It was true! Elia did have her sights set upon Darcy, and the sentiment, if the letter specifically asking after her was any indication, appeared to be returned.

A white hot rage descended upon Anne, and she thought back to the times they had been in company together. Darcy had never paid _Anne _much attention other than that due a close relation, but _Elia_... Images raced their way through her mind—images of Elia and her inane chatter, Darcy smiling at Elia, their heads close together in conversation, Darcy throwing his head back in unrestrained laughter over something she had said... It all added up!

But how could she avoid it? Anne was under no illusions as to her own desirability—years of poor health had robbed her of any vitality or beauty she would have otherwise possessed, and Elia was, after all, a very beautiful woman. She had always counted on her cousin's sense of honor and duty to induce him into marrying her, thereby saving her from the control of her mother. With Elia now in the picture, could he still be counted upon to adhere to that duty?

Startled by the sound of footsteps, Anne folded the letter and hid it in the couch where it was before. But while the physical evidence of her snooping was hidden—Elizabeth was still at the pianoforte and appeared to have noticed nothing—inwardly, Anne was still furious over her cousin's defection.

When Elia appeared back in the room, she approached the couch, and Elizabeth once again joined them, sitting across from them in the chair she had occupied previously. Yet although they attempted to resume their previous discourse, something indefinable—at least to the other two women—had changed. It seemed as though the temperature in the room had dropped precipitously, and the fact that Anne contributed little to the conversation was noted, though not remarked upon, by the other ladies.

Finally, after hearing another stupid comment concerning the desirability of friends by the hostess, Anne could stand it no longer.

"Elia, I understand _your brother_ corresponds with my cousin Darcy a great deal."

There was no outward response from the other woman, but her eyes flicked to where the letter was hidden, and—apparently satisfied it had not been disturbed—she turned her attention back to Anne.

"Oh, he corresponds with so many people I hardly know how he can keep track of it all," said she with a titter. "I do declare that if I were to receive so many letters, I would soon find my head spinning with all those words on the pages, and letters are so very wordy, after all. I am truly grateful it falls to his lot and not mine."

But Anne was not to be deterred, and the woman's stupidity was truly beginning to grate upon her nerves.

"But I have it on great authority that Darcy _has_ exchanged letters with your brother. It should be a great comfort to him that the master of such a great estate, versed in all business matters, should _condescend_ to write to your brother."

Only a hint of displeasure could be seen in the tightening of Elia's eyes at Anne's patronizing tone. "I am sure he is, Anne. However, I keep out of the running of Stauneton Hall, and my brother stays away from the running of the house, so I really could not say whether, or to what extent, they exchange letters."

Anne sniffed in disdain. "I expect my cousin to join us very soon, and I must say that I derive a lot of pleasure from his visits." Anne turned to Elizabeth. "You saw my cousin in London recently, I understand. Surely he must have said something of his plans to visit?"

"Indeed, he did," was the response, though Elizabeth—as intelligent as Anne had suspected she was—appeared to have an inkling as to the thrust of Anne's words. "He informed me he usually makes a visit at Easter and stays for several weeks."

"Yes, it is so," confirmed Anne. "My mother and I enjoy his visits—and that of my other cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam—ever so much."

Anne leaned forward, speaking almost conspiratorially. "I understand he comes with a specific purpose in mind. Surely you have heard about how our marriage has been arranged since the time we were infants?"

A pair of nods—Elia's being somewhat curt—met her declaration.

She smiled. "All indications are that he believes it is time to formalize our relationship. I expect a proposal from him this time."

"In that case, I must congratulate you, Miss de Bourgh," said Elizabeth.

Elia, however, appeared to be somewhat put out. She hid it in an instant and plastered a most insincere smile upon her face. "Oh, I should be very happy for you, Anne, but you must not put your confidence in Mr. Darcy. Men are so inconstant, you know, and I fear your hopes should be dashed if he does not make the expected proposal. Your mother has spoken of this... _arrangement_ at great length, it is true, but my understanding is neither of you are bound by it. In fact, Mr. Darcy may have someone else in mind—he may even mean to make an offer to Miss Bennet here."

Elizabeth's shocked gasp was immediately heard, and she hastened to assure the other two ladies that Mr. Darcy had made _no_ such intimations to her, and Anne, though cognizant of the fact that the young woman was very comely, thought she was beneath Darcy's notice. No, Anne had nothing to fear from _that_ quarter.

"I assure you, _Miss Baker_, that my cousin is very aware of his duty and will take this familial obligation very seriously. And Miss Bennet, though everything that is good and pleasant, would not dream of attempting to stake a claim on such an illustrious person as my cousin. Indeed, I could wish that _all_ young ladies of my acquaintance were so aware of their station in life."

Elia's frown bore testament of her displeasure in the face of Anne's insinuations. "I am sure I do not understand your meaning, Miss de Bourgh."

"And I am sure there can be no mistake, Miss Baker. I am well aware of your ambitions and your intention to steal my intended, and I cannot emphasized strongly enough what a mistake that would be on your part. Not only would my _mother _take a dim view of such an attempt, but Mr. Darcy has far too much sense to pursue some fortune-chasing tart with nothing more than flaxen hair and a large bosom to tempt him!"

With that, Anne stood and quit the room without so much as a glance back. In the back of her mind, she realized that her behavior had not been what she would have expected of herself, but she had been unable to help it. The woman was a brazen fortune-hunter, and Anne would not put up with it!

Yet Anne recognized her inherent vulnerability, and she was fearful for what the future held. She _must _escape from her mother's influence. Perhaps it was time for her to take hold of her own future.

* * *

Elizabeth watched in shock as Anne de Bourgh quit the room and then peered at the woman across from her who even now stared at the retreating woman with a flinty glare upon her face. Elizabeth would never have expected Anne to act in such a manner, and the sudden image of Lady Catherine's displeasure, should she ever become aware of the scene, flashed across her mind.

But then again, if the lady ever suspected what her daughter did, Elizabeth did not doubt that her reaction would be even more violent than Anne's had been.

Elizabeth was not insensible to the tension which had pervaded the room since their arrival, nor was she ignorant of its cause, which their argument had just so clearly illustrated. She had seen the letter Elia held in their hands upon their entering the room and had also been witness to Anne's prying into her friend's affairs. Or the affairs of her friend's _brother_, as it now appeared. Embarrassed by the blatant impropriety and not wishing to draw attention to herself, Elizabeth had feigned ignorance of what had occurred and kept her silence, hoping the other women would behave with decorum.

Aware of her own time spent conversing with Darcy and knowing how it would be viewed by both of the other women, Elizabeth felt that perchance it was time to leave and take stock of the situation in solitary contemplation. Perhaps it would be best if she was not in company with Elia and Anne much in the future.

Standing, Elizabeth stated her intention to depart, which drew the gaze of the mistress to her. Elia gazed upon her with an unreadable expression for several moments before she smiled and rose to stand by her guest.

"I am sorry you were witness to that."

Elizabeth responded that it was quite all right, to which the other woman frowned.

"It is not all right, I beg to differ," contradicted Elia. "I would hope that—regardless of what else passes between gentlewomen—we would all endeavor to keep our discourses polite."

She sighed and continued: "I fear that our friend Anne is feeling the effects of her enforced confinement with her mother—I am sure you have not missed the fact that the lady dominates Anne and allows her very little freedom."

At Elizabeth's noncommittal response, Elia smiled. "Yes, perhaps it is best to speak no more of the subject. But I would not have you feel unwelcome despite the fact that our visit was interrupted by this unpleasantness. Please, do say you will call again tomorrow."

"Oh, I should not wish to inconvenience you," replied Elizabeth.

"It is no inconvenience," disagreed Elia with a wave of her hand. "Oh, perhaps the servants may feel differently, but they _are_ here to serve _us_ are they not?"

Elizabeth could only agree.

"Then _do_ say you will come again. I believe I should like to know you better."

Left with nothing but to acquiesce, Elizabeth agreed, and after a few more moments of farewells, she departed, reflecting that Kent was much more interesting—and less restful—than she would have imagined.


	44. Chapter XLIV

**Previously:** Anne de Bourgh misreads the letter Elia had hidden, believing Darcy is indicating an interest in Elia. Anne (wishing to escape the influence of her mother) insists that Darcy will marry her, and she insults Elia before leaving.

* * *

**Chapter XLIV**

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Elizabeth returned to Stauneton Hall, the very day after the spectacular falling out between the two neighboring women. After the outburst from Anne de Bourgh, Elizabeth was not certain what to expect, and—unfortunately—Mary was feeling unwell, so Elizabeth would have to face the estate's mistress without the assistance of a third party who was unaware of what had recently occurred.

However, her anxiety turned out to be unnecessary, as Elia Baker acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. She greeted Elizabeth with utmost kindness, ushering her to a seat and immediately plying her with questions. Elizabeth was quickly put at ease; apparently, Elia had no more desire to talk about what had happened than Elizabeth did. And so, Elizabeth allowed herself to enjoy her time with the woman, reflecting that what Elia lacked in understanding, she made up in kindness.

Soon, the two women had veered into a somewhat strange conversation involving their likes and dislikes.

"I dislike jam tarts," proclaimed Elia. "They are much too fatty for my tastes."

Elizabeth smiled. "But they do make such a magnificent treat at a picnic."

"Picnics!" cried Elia. "Oh, heavens! I have never understood the appeal of a picnic. To sit out upon the ground—why, there are ants and other disgusting little creatures to be found there! And do not forget about the squirrels—and the hedgehogs—and all the other small creatures which may sneak in and steal your food."

Elizabeth stifled a laugh. "The blanket is to be placed underneath you—to ensure that no insects disturb your meal. And I daresay that small creatures would give a party of humans a wide berth rather than attempt to steal food. It is also amusing to feed the odd squirrel which may peer at you from the edge of a clearing."

"Feeding squirrels?" cried out Elia with a shudder. "Good heavens! Why ever would you do that? And all it takes is one little ant to utterly ruin one's appetite! But that is enough discussion of picnics. Come, Miss Bennet, do you have any suitors applying for your hand?"

Elizabeth could not help but flush. "I am unattached," admitted she slowly.

"What sort of suitor do you prefer?" Seeing the increasing redness of Elizabeth's face, Elia tittered. "Miss Bennet, it is just the two of us. Do you prefer a man of fortune?"

Elizabeth's thoughts flashed inexplicably to Mr. Darcy, but she quickly pushed them aside. "No, I much prefer a pauper."

Elia did not seem to understand Elizabeth's teasing tone. "Oh, surely not!" cried she. "How would you live if you married such a man?"

At times, Elizabeth truly thought that Elia was as insensible as she appeared. "I am sorry, Miss Baker—I was merely attempting to tease with my answer. In truth, I believe a mutual regard more important than financial considerations."

"You are a romantic, then!" exclaimed the other woman. "Might you prefer a man who is rightfully proud of his place? A man who is of tall stature, perhaps, and whose dark brooding creates an air of mystery?"

Elizabeth suddenly choked on air. Elia Baker began patting her, trying to calm her, and Elizabeth finally managed to control her breathing more accurately. Was the other woman intentionally trying to describe Mr. Darcy? Did she have an inkling of how much time Elizabeth had spent with him?

At last, certain she could speak without embarrassing herself, Elizabeth said: "I have no preference."

Elia stared at her for a few seconds, her face unreadable, and then she smiled. "I hope whoever I marry shall fit that criteria. A woman might as well dream!"

"Indeed."

"However, a woman must also be careful when indulging those fantasies." Elia's tone had suddenly become serious—and Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not certain why a feeling of unease had suddenly come over her. "Dear Anne, poor thing, has allowed herself to come to believe in her mother's dream that she marry her cousin, and she has taken that dream upon herself, deluding herself into thinking it is a reality." Elia shook her head sadly. "No, Mr. Darcy will never marry her."

"I have spent some time with Mr. Darcy, and I do not believe the subject has ever come up. I cannot say I know what Mr. Darcy will and will not do," said Elizabeth carefully.

"His waistcoats are fine, are they not?"

"Wh-what?" stammered Elizabeth.

"I have told my brother many times that Mr. Darcy's tailor must be skilled indeed."

"I must say I have never especially noticed his waistcoats," said Elizabeth. No, she had been too busy looking at that intense stare of his.

"And his buttons are so very shiny. I have always admired a good shiny button."

And then the conversation turned to other fashions, and the hint of darkness in Elia's conversation—and Elizabeth's sense that something was slightly _off_ about the other young woman—dissipated.

Before long, Mr. Baker came and greeted them.

"James!" cried Elia. "You simply _must_ discuss the keeping of our grounds with Miss Bennet. She has a particular fondness for the outdoors, and I am certain she would be delighted to hear whatever you have to say on the subject."

Mr. Baker raised an eyebrow in obvious skepticism, but he allowed his sister to usher him over to sit beside Elizabeth.

Elizabeth did not miss the shrewd gleam in Elia Baker's eyes, and the notion of Elia serving as matchmaker made Elizabeth highly uncomfortable—particularly with the woman's brother! Elizabeth had not spent enough time in his company to be able to understand how she felt about James—she had only been in the neighborhood for a few days, after all!—but she would not be rude to him, no matter how little at ease she was.

"Mr. Baker," said Elizabeth with a small smile, "are you fond of the outdoors as well?"

"I do enjoy riding my horse," said he after a second's pause, "but I am afraid I should not know a rosebush from a thistle."

Elizabeth gave a small laugh. "Surely it is not as bad as all that."

"Perhaps not," admitted Mr. Baker, his white teeth glistening as he offered her a grin. "But it is not much better."

"I would not say I am well versed in botany, but I do know the names of several common plants found near my father's estate."

"Is she not charming, James?" said Elia suddenly. "I daresay I have not heard her speak a single unkind word about anyone."

Elizabeth's cheeks became warm. "I am no saint, I can assure you." _Jane_ was, but Elizabeth certainly was not even close to sainthood. If only Elia knew what Elizabeth's character sketch of her was!

"And modest, too!" said Mr. Baker with a laugh.

"Careful, Mr. Baker—I might think you were teasing me."

He grinned at her. "And would that be so terrible?"

"That would depend on entirely what sort of woman I would wish you to see me as. Perhaps I would like to be coy—or perhaps I would like to pretend I have delicate sensibilities. A woman has several personality options to choose from."

Mr. Backer cocked his head, amusement shining in his eyes. "And a woman cannot simply be herself?"

Elizabeth looked at him in mock shock. "Of course not! It is a woman's prerogative to act as something other than herself. You must not believe all women enjoy flattering male egos?"

He let out a bark of laughter. "You intrigue me, Miss Bennet."

"There—you see? Already, I have done something unpredictable."

They continued to speak, and Mr. Baker seemed to be somewhat amused most of the time. However, Elizabeth suspected it had less to do with her and more to do with his sister's matchmaking attempts. Elia Baker was continually pointing out the good qualities of both her brother and Elizabeth, noting everything from a mutual love of tea (which was quite ridiculous to mention, as there were few people who _disliked_ the beverage) to the way the color of their eyes went together so perfectly (which was also ridiculous, for reasons which need not be mentioned).

Elizabeth tried to enjoy herself. Mr. Baker was a pleasant enough companion, as was his somewhat unique but apparently well-meaning sister. However, despite his mild interest in her—for she did not believe it was anything _but_ mild—she did not feel entirely comfortable with him. Perhaps he was too boyish for her—or perhaps he simply failed to challenge her. In conversations about Shakespeare or other literary geniuses, he fell short, not being especially interested in reading. Still, she did try to enjoy his company. As she had told Elia, she was an unattached woman. She might as well try to learn if she might have any feelings for this young man. He was handsome enough and pleasing to talk to. He was certainly closer to her station than a lofty man such as Mr. Darcy, and he was a thousand times more appealing than Mr. Collins. Of course, then again, a slug was highly preferable to Mr. Collins!

And so she teased him and laughed with him—though a small part of her kept comparing him with Mr. Darcy. She tried not to think about the fact that he rated less than Mr. Darcy in every single category except one—Mr. Baker's amiability. No stretch of the term "amiable" could ever make it fit Mr. Darcy. And surely that was a failing on Mr. Darcy's part, was it not?

But that one "victory" for James Baker felt hollow to Elizabeth.


	45. Chapter XLV

**Previously:** Elizabeth visits Elia the day after Anne and Elia fight and is thrown together with James.

* * *

**Chapter XLV**

The rest of the week passed away, and when it had, Elizabeth was left to reflect that the time had gone by very quickly indeed. It hardly seemed like she had been in Kent for an entire week—so much had happened that it felt as if it had instead been a month!

The disagreements of the previous few days appeared to have severed the acquaintance between the two ladies of the area, whom Elizabeth had met with individually since the day of their falling out. Neither of the two ladies mentioned or ventured to send any sort of invitation to the other. Elizabeth, eager to stay clear of their disagreements, was quite happy to sit with each lady without the presence of the other, though she took great care not to choose sides.

Elia continued in her attempts to forward an acquaintance between Elizabeth and James, and though Elizabeth found the man engaging and polite, his behavior reminded her of _another _young man with whom she had had dealings in the past. It was nothing she could put her finger upon, and she certain did not feel _unsafe_ in his company, but she did get the decided impression that his ways were a little rakish—he was a charmer without a doubt, engaging in his manners and cheerful in his demeanor, and that in and of itself made Elizabeth wary.

Apart from that new development, Elia continued to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened and behave much as she had previously. However, Anne's behavior was decidedly different. Though she had not been especially talkative or friendly before, now she was reserved and quiet almost to the point of taciturnity, causing Elizabeth to wonder why the woman even bothered to invite her to visit. With Mary, Anne was somewhat less aloof, maintaining the polite, though distant, manner which she had always shown the wife of the resident parson. It was almost as though now that Elia had been revealed as a rival—in her mind, at least—_all_ single young ladies were suspect. And perhaps Elizabeth was more suspect than most—after all, Elizabeth had, by her own admission, recently spent time in the company of Mr. Darcy while in London.

However, Elizabeth, indifferent as she was to the young heiress' true opinion of her, found that she was unaffected by the woman's change in demeanor. She could do and think as she pleased, after all, and there was nothing Elizabeth could—or wished—to do about the matter. She was here to visit Mary, after all, not to make herself agreeable to the local ladies, Lady Catherine de Bourgh's daughter or not.

While visiting Mary, Elizabeth found a great sense of joy and satisfaction, and she forged a closer relationship with her younger sister, which had never been strong before Mary's marriage. Though she could not agree with Mary's choice of husband and quite frankly could not abide the man's stupidity and overly long and pompous speeches for any length of time, she was forced to admit that married life definitely agreed with her younger sister. Mary appeared to have blossomed almost overnight.

Of Mr. Collins, Elizabeth saw little, thankfully. He was as ridiculous as he had been in Hertfordshire, and—in addition—his manners before his great mistress were even more ineffectual and obsequious than she could have believed.

In his manner toward her, he continued to be cold and distant, even almost hostile. Elizabeth could only surmise that he nursed a grudge against her for being the means of ruining his chances with Jane, which Elizabeth found in incredibly bad taste—to feel rancor for not being able to marry one sister while actually being married to _another_ was foolish and would risk angering his wife. Mary, however, appeared to either misunderstand his resentment toward Elizabeth or willfully ignore it. In Elizabeth's opinion, it was the latter—her sister was not insensible, after all. Certainly not like her husband.

One of the activities in which Elizabeth enjoyed very much to partake with her sister was walking the small gardens of the parsonage and even venturing into the village of Hunsford. Mary, as wife to the parson, was often called to assist, provide comfort to, or simply visit with the local parishioners, and she took her duties seriously. Elizabeth, though she could have demurred and stayed in the parsonage or indulged in her pastime of walking the area, was more than happy to accompany her sister.

A week after her arrival in Kent, they were returning from the village in the afternoon and were just about to enter the gate to the parsonage when a horse came trotting toward them. Instinctively, both sisters edged to the side of the road to avoid the dust kicked up by the horse's hooves, only to be surprised by the sound of a voice hailing them.

"By my word, Miss Bennet! And Miss Mary, if I am not mistaken—good day to you!"

Turning, Elizabeth peered up at the horseman in alarm, finding herself gazing into the face of the one person she had hoped never to see again.

The gentleman, who was sporting a wide smile, dismounted and bowed to the two sisters with a flourish. "I cannot tell you how good it is to see you—and apparently in the best of health as well!"

The two women exchanged a glance before curtseying back at the young man.

"Thank you, Mr. Wickham," responded Elizabeth, though with a singular lack of enthusiasm. "We are well, as you see."

Now, it must be said that though Elizabeth had studiously avoided thinking about this particular gentleman since she had last seen him, she was aware of the fact that the impact of her prior acquaintance with him had affected her life significantly, and she would have been happy to never again cross paths with him. Still, she would not be rude, in spite of how she detested the very sight of him.

"I had thought you to be in Surrey, sir. What brings you to Kent?"

Ignoring her lack of welcome and frosty tone, Wickham flashed his usual grin—which in the past had fairly melted her heart. "I was, but I was in Hertfordshire and stopped to visit with your family, and they informed me of your presence. Since I also had business in Kent to attend to, I was hoping I might come across you—this is truly a fortunate happenstance indeed!"

"Indeed, it is," murmured Elizabeth, thinking that it was, in fact, just about the worst circumstance she could possibly imagine.

Mary, however, was not as polite as Elizabeth and—knowing how he had hurt her sister in the past—was not inclined to be charitable to the young man. "You mean our father allowed you to enter the house?" asked she, the skepticism evident in her voice.

He waved her off in a nonchalant manner. "Your father was not available at the time, Miss Mary—I visited with your mother and your youngest sister, though I must admit I was surprised and disappointed not to see _you_, Miss Bennet."

"I am sorry, Mr. Wickham," replied Mary, "but perhaps you have not heard. It is 'Mrs. Collins' now—I have been married these last three months."

Wickham bowed low. "Indeed, I believe I do remember your mother telling me of the joyous event. I congratulate you and offer my felicitations on your marriage, Mrs. Collins."

Mary inclined her head gracefully while appearing no more welcoming than she had been at any point in their discourse. Elizabeth, however, had colored at his statement about wishing to see _her_ and was silent, wondering how she could dispose of this uncomfortable situation. Mary, though, had no trouble asking him in a not-quite-polite way to be gone: "Perhaps you should attend to your business, _sir_, and leave us to ours. I believe everything between you and my sister that needs to be said has already been said."

"Nonsense! I would very much enjoy the chance to catch up with old friends. My business is not _that_ urgent, you understand, and I believe I would very much enjoy the opportunity to become acquainted with you again, as I did with your mother and sister. Surely you would not wish to send an old friend away without becoming reacquainted, however brief that reacquaintance must be."

"I think that perhaps it is best that we do not," said Mary, completely unyielding in her dislike. "You did not leave our family under the best of circumstances, after all, Mr. Wickham, particularly in regard to Elizabeth. Besides, I understand you are _married_ now—perhaps you would be well advised to depart immediately."

"Alas," replied Wickham with a heavy sigh of melancholy, "Mrs. Wickham has been deceased these past three years—a tragic accident with a horse, you understand."

"I am very sorry to hear it," said Elizabeth, exerting herself to speak.

Mary, however, said nothing, merely contenting herself with glaring at the young man, her attitude one he seemed determined to pretend did not exist. He focused his attention upon Elizabeth, who was made uncomfortable by his scrutiny. She wished that he would depart so she could deal with all the old conflicting emotions in peace.

As they were thus engaged, an open coach which had been approaching them stopped, and the voice of Lady Catherine blared across the intervening space.

"Mrs. Collins! You should not be standing by the side of the road in all this wind. I daresay your hair shall be a mess, and your dress shall be a sight if you continue so with this attitude."

Elizabeth shared a glance with her sister—though Mary was obliged to pay deference to the lady due to her husband's position, she was not oblivious to the fact that Lady Catherine was a pompous busybody whose declarations sometimes contained not a hint of sense. After all, they were both wearing bonnets to protect their hair, and their dresses would not be any worse for the wear in so little wind as existed that day. Elizabeth turned away to hide a scowl as her sister answered that they were about to enter the house. It was because of this that Elizabeth was in a position to see Mr. Wickham turn his attention to the two new arrivals and smirk at them.

"Mr. Wickham!" cried Lady Catherine. "I have not seen you in many years—since before your father passed away, I believe."

Wickham's bow was smooth and only hinted at deference, something which the lady did not appear to notice. "Indeed, milady. How do you do?"

"I do very well, Mr. Wickham. But then again, I always do well—maladies are for the lower classes, after all. What are you doing in this part of the country?"

"I had some business in Kent and happened across these lovely ladies, with whom I have a prior acquaintance."

Her ladyship's appraising glances between Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham were hardly subtle, and Elizabeth had to stifle a groan—Lady Catherine _could not _be thinking of matching her with Wickham! Another part of her, however, was curious. How had Lady Catherine come to know Wickham? Had she been acquainted with his family? Unfortunately, Wickham had never truly been forthcoming with the details of his own life, so Elizabeth found she knew relatively nothing of him—she only knew that three years ago he had been looking for a wife.

"Well, then, if you have a prior connection with the two ladies, then perhaps you should come to Rosings and dine with us. I normally would not extend such an invitation, but as you _know_ them so _well_…"

Elizabeth longed to correct the lady and induce her to rescind the invitation, but her innate sense of propriety would not allow her to act in such a manner.

Wickham's reaction to the prospect was all enjoyment. "Lady Catherine, I believe such a scheme would be most delightful. I gratefully accept."

"Well, I am happy I could be of service," replied the lady, directing a slight smirk at Elizabeth. "The Collinses and Miss Bennet have been invited three days hence—you shall be welcome at the same time. Please understand that I will not put up with tardiness!"

"I do remember your appreciation for punctuality. I shall endeavor to be on time, milady."

He flashed her a grin and turned to greet Anne as well, a greeting which was returned with some interest on the lady's part. Elizabeth had the impression that although Lady Catherine was familiar with the gentleman, Anne had not the foggiest idea of who he was.

The conversation continued on in a desultory manner for several more moments before they separated, Lady Catherine and her daughter towards Rosings, while Wickham, after bidding the ladies of the parsonage an elaborate—and overdone, in Elizabeth's opinion—farewell, mounted and rode on in the opposite direction.

Though it appeared Mary would have liked to discuss the situation in more detail, she was called away to deal with some matter of the servants the moment they entered the parsonage, leaving Elizabeth by herself to reflect.

Wickham was back. Though she would have thought her reaction would be one more of anger and revulsion at the thought, her true feeling was weariness and disinterestedness. The man would do what he would, but Elizabeth would not be fooled again. Still, it would be difficult with him present, not to mention all of the old memories his presence would dredge up.

Between Wickham's return and James's attentions, Elizabeth was very much afraid she might find herself in between two rakes, one of whom had hurt her in the past.

But one thing was clear—she would not allow a man to hurt her in such a fashion again. Of that, she was determined!


	46. Chapter XLVI

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews!

**Previously:** Wickham appears in Kent and is invited to dinner at Rosings.

* * *

**Chapter XLVI**

The day of the dinner at Rosings approached swiftly, much to Elizabeth's dismay. She found herself indulging in vain hopes—namely, that either time would stop or she would be afflicted with a terrible cold that would preclude any possibility that she could attend the meal at which Mr. Wickham was supposed to be present. Unfortunately, neither of these hopes came to pass—and the ground also failed to open up and swallow her whole—so Elizabeth was doomed to an evening in the presence of the man she had once believed she might one day marry. Both recalling her naivete in the realm of love and being forced to look upon him were painful for her, but she had little choice in the matter. She did not wish him to know how much his presence affected her; she would not give him that satisfaction.

Thus, Elizabeth went with Mary and Mr. Collins to Rosings, determined to hold her head up high. She caught more than one knowing look from Mary, but neither sister mentioned the sensitive subject weighing down the air around them, and Elizabeth found herself grateful for Mary's forbearance. Mr. Collins certainly would not be sympathetic, and Elizabeth did not wish to hand him something he could lord over her—not that she believed him intelligent enough to truly realize what such knowledge could mean in regard to his effect on her level of misery. She did, however, believe him petty, and she thought it possible he could stumble onto the realization in his attempts to snub her.

Rosings was much as it usually was—it was filled with the same ostentatious and slightly uncomfortable furniture, the pretentious and overly showy decor, and the domineering and overbearing presence of Lady Catherine as she had seen before. Anne was still cold as she had been since the incident at Stauneton, Mr. Collins was as eagerly obsequious as he had always been, and Mary was still calm and thoughtful and blind to the social faux pas which Mr. Collins committed every time he opened his mouth. To all this, Mr. Wickham and his—what she now knew to be—insincere flattery and charming manners were added, making the company even more tedious and annoying than it had been previously.

It was Elizabeth's misfortune—and likely Lady Catherine de Bourgh's intention—that she was placed beside Mr. Wickham at dinner. Elizabeth had known the evening would be miserable, but she had thought that not even fate would be so cruel as to pair her with the wretched man who had broken her heart. She was obviously wrong.

With a smirk and a gesture at their seating arrangement, Mr. Wickham proclaimed: "This is fortunate indeed. I had rather hoped to spend more time in conversation with you, Miss Bennet."

"I am certain you did," murmured Elizabeth with a glare which clearly told him that the pleasure would _not _be mutual. Mr Wickham either did not recognize the insult or—she suspected—completely ignored it.

Elizabeth's eyes lifted and met the sympathetic gaze of her sister across the table. Elizabeth gave a brief nod. She could handle this. It was a matter of feeling ill at ease. That was all. Before she knew it, the night would be over, and she would be at Mary's home, and Mr. Wickham would be out of her life. The little voice that warned her he might be lingering in Kent for a while was one she quelled.

The soup was served, and both Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham declared it to be very good. When it was time for the main course, the chorus of flattery from both men grew louder.

"My! What a glorious table we have before us!" exclaimed Mr. Collins. "Your ladyship always has such an eye for complementary flavors. Not even the royal table can hope to compare with the bounty you place before us."

"I must second the opinion of Mr. Collins," said Mr. Wickham smoothly. "Your selection is much to be praised. I daresay you must keep only the finest cooks."

"That is certainly the case," confirmed Lady Catherine, an expression like a smirk on her face. Her vanity appeared to make her feel pleased at the prospect of a new admirer.

"Finding a proper cook can be a difficult task," said Mr. Wickham, "but you appear to have managed quite well, your ladyship."

"I should say so. I refuse to settle for anything less than the best. If you are going to do something, then you might as well do it in the proper fashion."

"I could not agree more, madam."

Although both men were free with their praise and flattery, the difference between the two was striking. Mr. Collins was in his element, constantly acclaiming everything which came to mind, and his words sometimes flitted from one subject to the next without any discernible sequence; he truly was so toadying that his words came from whatever was passing through his meager mind at the moment, so desperate was he to continually show his patroness how thankful he was for her favor. Mr. Wickham, however, flattered primarily on what was occurring at the time, making sure that his attempts at bloating Lady Catherine's vanity—as though it were not already bloated enough!—were smooth and bespoke of an intelligence and purpose, though Elizabeth had no way of determining what he was truly after.

As the meal progressed, Mr. Wickham and Lady Catherine proceeded to engage in an exclusive conversation in which the former flattered the latter, continuing to exercise his extreme charisma to its utmost. Mr. Collins, when he attempted to insert his own compliments into their dialogue, found himself cast aside by an abrupt statement from her ladyship, and then he began to glower in barely disguised anger at the object of his patroness's attention.

Elizabeth was initially amused by the situation, especially since it meant Mr. Wickham was not paying any attention to her, but she soon began to worry about Mr. Collins. After all, if the man were to have an outburst that displeased Lady Catherine, it might harm Mary's situation, and Elizabeth did not want that. So, drawing upon what must have been the patience of a saint, Elizabeth began to speak to Mr. Collins and force him to focus some of his displeasure on her. It was not a pleasant way to spend the meal, but at least she was not speaking to Mr. Wickham.

After dinner, they went to the drawing-room. The men chose—wisely—not to separate from the women, and Mr. Wickham immediately turned on the female-pleasing charm Elizabeth knew quite well. As it had been at dinner, she could not understand his agenda, but it worried her.

"Mr. Collins and I are quite fortunate," noted Mr. Wickham with a smile. "We are surrounded by lovely and talented women. It is a wonder we can speak at all."

The expression on Mr. Collins's face darkened, and Mary jumped in: "Lizzy, you must play the pianoforte for us." She looked at Lady Catherine. "My sister plays quite well."

"Then, go to it, child," instructed Lady Catherine, gesturing toward the instrument.

Repressing a sigh, Elizabeth moved and sat down at the pianoforte. She opened the first piece of music she saw, glad that it was one she was somewhat familiar with. As her fingers began to press against the keys, she noted out of the corner of her eyes that Mr. Collins was talking to Lady Catherine—likely trying to flatter himself back into her good graces. Mr. Wickham had moved toward Anne de Bourgh, presumably to converse.

Mary immediately assisted Elizabeth by turning the pages, and she murmured: "Are you all right, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth gave an almost impish smile. "I am fine, Mary, thank you. Somehow, however, I do not believe anyone wished to listen to me play."

"I wished to," said Mary firmly.

"Would you like to play?"

Mary shook her head. "I would just like to listen to you for a few minutes."

After Elizabeth played a few minutes more, she finally stopped and looked at her sister. "Are you ready to face the rest of the room?" In that moment, Elizabeth could not help but wonder—how _was_ her sister truly coping with having Mr. Collins as a husband? She appeared to be working around him much better than Elizabeth would have done, and she seemed content, but it must have been difficult for her. Mary was far more intelligent than he could aspire to be. Would this life truly make the young woman content?

"I suppose I am," admitted Mary with a smile.

The two ladies turned and left the pianoforte. Mr. Collins was still flattering the seated Lady Catherine, though that was not surprising. Anne and Mr. Wickham, however, were standing against a wall out of sight of Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins, deep in conversation. Mr. Wickham was leaning a little closer to Anne than was strictly proper, but when he saw Elizabeth, he smiled brightly and called out to her: "Miss Bennet, Mrs. Collins, please join us! That was some excellent music you provided to us."

Inhaling deeply, Elizabeth walked with her sister over to Anne and Mr. Wickham. The night had not been ideal, but at least it was not going too terribly. She was, however, strangely missing the taciturnity of Mr. Darcy—even when he was at his most dour, she had far rather face him than listen to the sycophantic conversations of Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham.

Once, Mr. Wickham had meant the world to her. Now, however, she marveled that she was the same girl who had relished every dance and every word from him. She knew now that silences could sometimes be infinitely more interesting than even the most carefully constructed sentences.

Her carefully placed smile faltered as she realized Mr. Darcy had not yet arrived at Rosings. Was he coming soon? And when he came, would she see him? Or would Lady Catherine be so enthralled at the chance to support an alliance between Anne and Mr. Darcy that suddenly the Collinses—and Elizabeth—would not be quite so welcome at Rosings?

She tried to tell herself that this was a blessing—but it was hard to convince herself that she did not want to see Mr. Darcy at least one more time. She told herself it was because she wanted to see how he interacted with his domineering aunt, yet that somehow felt like a hollow excuse.


	47. Chapter XLVII

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews!

**Previously:** Elizabeth attends a dinner at Rosings in which Wickham is present.

* * *

**Chapter XLVII**

The carriage ride seemed interminable, and though Darcy knew it to be short—a mere four hours—it felt as though it was a journey of prodigious proportions.

Part of this, of course, was due to the fact that he was undertaking the journey alone for the first time in his memory. In the past, his cousin had always accompanied him on his annual visit, but this year, unfortunately, Colonel Fitzwilliam had been summoned back to his regiment on urgent business. Darcy was not certain of the reason for the summons—and hoped the man would not be sent to the continent—but he had been given every assurance that Fitzwilliam would be able to join him again this summer or perhaps even sooner, which seemed to suggest that he would _not_ be in the middle of the fighting. Darcy was grateful for small blessings.

However, Darcy was not looking forward to going to Kent, and it was not solely due to the fact that Fitzwilliam would not be with him at Rosings this year, although it _was_ true that he counted on him as a friend and confidante to fortify him during these annual visits—their aunt, after all, _did _have a tendency to make them uncomfortable, and Darcy was aware that Fitzwilliam generally came along with the primary purpose of providing Darcy with support. However, it was _this time_ in particular when Darcy could have used the assistance, making the timing irksome at best.

In short, Darcy expected this particular visit to be especially unpleasant, and Lady Catherine's usual displeasure at his unwillingness to commit to Anne would pale in comparison to what she would feel when he told her once and for all that he had no intention of marrying the young woman.

Darcy had thought long and hard on the subject—indeed, for the past several months he had thought of little else—but the more he thought, the more convinced he became that marrying Anne was not what he desired and that it was, in fact, just about the worst thing he could do for his future happiness. He loved and respected Anne as a cousin, but they were too similar in temperament and character to make their marriage a happy one. Of course, Lady Catherine would no doubt trot out that old, tired argument about how she and her sister had planned their union from the time they were both in their cradles. However, Darcy knew otherwise—his father had told him that Lady Anne _had_ indeed discussed the _possibility _with her sister, but she had never entered into a formal engagement. For this, Darcy was grateful, as _if_ his mother _had_ agreed to such a scheme, he knew he would have been honor-bound to abide by the agreement—his sense of duty would allow for nothing else.

As for his more particular choice, Elia Baker was a fine woman of a very good pedigree, she had an impressive dowry, and marriage to her would bind Darcy not only to the Bakers, but also to their distant cousin, who was an esteemed duke. Therefore, she had all the necessary requirements to be considered a good match by any definition. In addition, the woman was bright and sunny, and she made for very pleasant company—not to mention she was his complete opposite. She also amused him, though his amusement was primarily due to her sometimes unintelligent comments. Still, he found he enjoyed her company, and he was aware that he could do much worse in his quest for a wife. It did not hurt that she was quite beautiful as well.

As for the other young lady currently living in Kent... Well, Darcy had resolved not to think _too much_ of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, difficult though that was proving. His resolve seemed to disappear in her presence, and he found himself wishing to speak with her and to hear her opinions—she intrigued and challenged him intellectually more than he had ever been before. He had been so disconcerted by his lack of control where she was concerned that he had even delayed telling her that he would be joining her in Kent, as he was not certain he would actually be attending his aunt this year due to her presence. He was unable to control his desire to be with her, and he could not subject her to Lady Catherine's displeasure if the lady even suspected any hint of partiality.

Of course, he was not partial to her—no more than she was partial to him. Her eyes did not sparkle more than usual in his presence, and her welcoming smiles were the same as she gave to everyone else. No, they had no mutual attraction; they simply enjoyed one another's company and their intelligent discourse. And besides, she was certainly _not_ an appropriate prospective partner in marriage; she had no dowry to speak of, her relations included a sycophantic simpleton of a parson, and she had no connections to bring to a marriage. If he were to consider marrying her, _all_ the advantage would be on her side and none on his. In light of that fact, he would not expose her to the disappointment of hopes which could not be filled.

In the end, he had decided to honor his yearly commitment and visit Rosings—Anne looked forward to his visits every year, and Lady Catherine's anger would be almost unbearable if he did not attend to her. Furthermore, he knew that Lady Catherine was an indifferent manager of the estate at best, and if he did not go to Rosings to look the situation over, he would have an even more difficult time sorting it out when he did return.

If Rosings still existed then, he thought, somewhat cynically.

Besides, he _did_ enjoy seeing Anne, even though it necessitated time spent in his aunt's company. He would just have to be careful with Anne's feelings in all of this—he found that although he had spent a lot of time in her company, the subject of their supposed marriage had never come up, and he was not certain what her reaction to his rejection of her would be. It was this lack of knowledge which had been the most difficult part of the process of coming to a decision about his future.

However, the facts remained: she was not a good match for him, Elia more closely fit his needs in a wife, and he was not even certain that Anne could carry a child safely to term. His need for an heir was the consideration which had perhaps trumped all others, especially with _two_ estates destined to be inherited by his children, should he marry Anne. No, he was certain this decision was for the best.

It was because of these thoughts that the trip to Rosings passed in such a dreary and seemingly long manner, and when the carriage finally pulled into the drive of his destination, Darcy had worked himself into something of a foul mood. He wanted nothing more than to seek his room and brood in silence, but he knew that Lady Catherine would not allow him such a luxury. Resigned to spending the evening in company when he would have preferred nothing more than his room and a good book, Darcy supervised the unpacking of his trunks, and once he had bathed himself from the dust of the road, he descended the stairs to brave the welcome of Lady Catherine.

The first thing he found upon entering the room was perhaps the last thing for which he would have hoped—Elizabeth Bennet was in the drawing room with his aunt and cousin. Still in an unsettled state, Darcy nonetheless exerted himself to politeness and greeted the ladies. Unfortunately, Lady Catherine was much as she had ever been.

"I see you have finally arrived, nephew," stated she after the pleasantries had been exchanged. "I had thought you would be here earlier in the day, but you young people always insist on sleeping late and then arriving at your destination at a most inconvenient hour."

Darcy barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes, and catching Miss Bennet's eyes, he was graced with her own answering smirk.

"Indeed, you are mistaken, Lady Catherine," said he. "I made very good time indeed and left once I had finished a small piece of business which presented itself at the last moment. I _did_ arrive soon after the luncheon hour, after all."

Lady Catherine merely sniffed and did not deign to answer. "Well, you are here now—that is what is important. Of course, you did not bring your cousin with you. I suppose he is off carousing with the officers of that regiment of his."

"I believe you are mistaken, Aunt. I saw Fitzwilliam before I left London, and whatever his business was, it was of the most serious nature. I believe he indicated he had written a note to you apologizing for his inability to attend you, but whatever he is doing, I am certain it is not 'carousing with the officers.'"

"I suppose not," was her reply, after which she was silent.

Knowing her as he did, Darcy was aware of her dislike for being contradicted—she would likely be silent for some time unless some other topic overcame her petulance. Darcy was grateful for small blessings, and every stolen moment in which she would be silent was such a blessing—such occasions were few and far in between.

"Cousin, I believe you have met Miss Bennet before, have you not?" spoke Anne.

"Oh, yes," interjected Lady Catherine, "I had forgotten of the young lady's presence." She turned to stare at Elizabeth as though she were a thief who had stolen into the room under the cover of night.

"We do share an acquaintance," said Darcy, trying to distract his aunt's attention away from the young lady. "How do you do, Miss Bennet? I hope you find Kent to your liking."

"Indeed, I do," replied Miss Bennet softly. "Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh have been very accommodating and kind—I hardly know I have left home due to the gracious welcome they have shown me."

A glance at Lady Catherine showed her preening under the praise, while the sparkle in Miss Bennet's eye showed that she understood exactly what she was doing and that she was amused that his aunt was lapping up the praise like a puppy.

Anne, however, showed a different reaction. She was watching him intently, though her gaze moved to Miss Bennet every so often, and Darcy wondered what she was thinking. Could she have some inkling of his... camaraderie with the young woman? And if so, did she feel threatened by it?

Determined that he would show no especial favor to the young woman—particularly in Lady Catherine's presence—Darcy returned to the conversation to hear his aunt addressing Miss Bennet.

"We were happy to receive you, Miss Bennet. You are not precisely of our sphere, it is true, but you are pleasant enough company, and you appear to know your place. Your sister has been a true benefit to the parish—she undertakes her duties to her husband's flock with a seriousness I find most pleasing. You should be very proud of her."

Darcy was embarrassed by his aunt's speech—_perhaps_ Miss Bennet was not of the first circles, but to state such to a gentleman's daughter to her face was very rude indeed. Miss Bennet, however, appeared to accept her words with grace, ignoring the less than diplomatic ones in favor of the praise for her sister.

"I am, Lady Catherine," said Miss Bennet. "I have always thought Mary would be an excellent wife to some fortunate man. She is very pious and attentive to the words of our Lord, which makes her perfect for her role. I am very happy for her."

"As you should be. I should hope that you will be as diligent in your duties as a wife when you are married. Your young beau seems to be good for you—I believe you will make an excellent pair, and as I am familiar with the ways and means of pairing those persons who are complementary with one another, I am never wrong about such things."

_That_ received Darcy's full attention. Elizab... Miss Bennet had been in Kent for a matter of two weeks, and she already had an admirer? Try as Darcy might, he could imagine no one in the area who would take such a quick and decided interest in her. The only unmarried man in the area was James Baker, and not only did he not mention anything of the sort in response to Darcy's letter, but he was also not one who appeared to be ready to settle down. In truth, though Darcy _did_ end up spending a certain amount of time with Baker whenever he visited, it was more due to the dearth of male companionship than anything else. Darcy considered him to be somewhat of a rake, and though his targets were not usually daughters of gentlemen, if he had taken an interest in Miss Bennet... The very thought caused a disquiet to manifest itself in the manner of a pit in the bottom of his stomach. He shook his head to clear it of his thoughts and focused in on the conversation again.

"I believe you are mistaken, Lady Catherine," was Miss Bennet's rebuttal. "I am certain Mr. Wickham is only passing through and has not shown any particular interest in me."

Almost choking on his tea, Darcy coughed and hacked, causing his aunt's attention to be turned upon him.

"You really must learn to sip your tea as is polite, nephew," stated she imperiously. "You shall certainly cause yourself to drown in your own beverage if you consume it too quickly."

Ignoring the inanities of her words, Darcy focused his attention upon Miss Bennet.

"_Mr. Wickham_ is here?"

She appeared taken aback by his vehemence, but she boldly faced him. "Yes, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham arrived a week ago and was in this very room a few days later dining with your aunt and my sister and her husband."

"Whatever for?" demanded Darcy, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Why do you question who I invite to my table, nephew?" challenged Lady Catherine. "Certainly, Mr. Wickham is not of our sphere—he isn't even of Miss Bennet's sphere!—but he _is_ an acquaintance, and one can only be polite. Besides, he was paying Miss Bennet particular attention."

His aunt's smirk was quite unpleasant, but Darcy had no time for her absurdities. He peered at Miss Bennet, trying ascertain just what was the situation between her and Mr. Wickham—he would _not_ allow another young woman of his acquaintance to be drawn in by that scoundrel.

Miss Bennet, however, appeared to sense his displeasure. "I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that I have no interest in furthering an acquaintance with Mr. Wickham, nor do I think he is interested in one with me."

When Lady Catherine appeared about to protest, Darcy spoke up, neatly diverting the conversation to one about Rosings and the situation of the estate. Lady Catherine, having an audience, appeared to be pleased at being able to update his knowledge—and thereby show him what a benefit it would be to him if he should marry Anne, no doubt—and the previous conversation was forgotten.

And although Darcy gave the appearance of interest in her information, inside he was seething and could concentrate upon little but the information that Wickham was in the area and paying attention to Miss Bennet. _That_ was a situation which he could not countenance in the slightest.

He had not seen the scoundrel in almost five years—not once since the meeting in which he had requested the value of the living Darcy's father had provided him in lieu of the living of Kympton, had he laid eyes upon the man. The only communication after that time had been the request for more money—firmly rejected, of course—which had led to the final abusive letter, and then there had been nothing since. Darcy had hoped he would never see his childhood companion again, knowing what a wastrel the man had become.

The man was a womanizer of the worst sort, meaning that all the ladies in the area were in danger—Elia Baker and Anne, in addition to Miss Bennet.

Uneasily, he cast his gaze upon both his cousin and Miss Bennet. The latter was affecting an air of unconcern while trying gamely to appear interested in the conversation of Rosings, which had nothing whatsoever to do with her. The former, though, was watching the proceedings with great interest, and Darcy witnessed her often staring at Miss Bennet and then alternating between her and himself with a small frown upon her face, as though trying to puzzle something out.

It was at that moment that Darcy decided that his original plan of proposing to Elia while breaking it off with Anne would not do. In a situation of such uncertainty and with Wickham prowling around the area, any deviation of their normal routines and activities could give the man an opportunity to commit whatever perfidy he was here to perpetrate. No, it would be much better for Darcy to keep his own council and watch Wickham carefully—when he was around _any_ of the young ladies.

As the conversation progressed, Darcy found himself observing Miss Bennet as she interacted with his relations, and he knew one thing—he _would_ keep her safe. He would!


	48. Chapter XLVIII

**A/N:** Robin Goodfellow (AKA "Puck") is from the play _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, and his actions with a love potion lead to a lot of confusion.

**Previously:** Darcy arrives in Kent and learns of Wickham's presence.

* * *

**Chapter XLVIII**

A few days passed before Darcy spoke with Elizabeth Bennet again. His aunt was pleased to see him and seemed loathe to share him with outsiders, and he had begun to wonder if she intended to completely ignore those she considered to be beneath her notice in favor of trying to bring _him_ under her domain in their stead. But with a little subtle prompting from Darcy to remind her of their neighbors—including two daughters of a gentleman—a dinner invite was at last sent to Hunsford and duly accepted. As for the Bakers, although Darcy suggested that their attendance be requested as well, the idea was met with cool disapproval, particularly from Anne. Nonplussed at their changed attitude toward their neighbors, Darcy shrugged and let the idea drop.

Darcy welcomed the company for the change it promised. Anne had been behaving strangely—beyond even her changed attitude toward the Bakers—and his aunt had seemed more officious than usual, all of which had made him miss Colonel Fitzwilliam's presence all the more. At least the Colonel was skilled at bringing humor into any situation. Darcy had begun to wonder if _anyone _at Rosings ever truly smiled.

His aunt's parson, the parson's wife, and Miss Bennet arrived for dinner, and when they were all at last seated at the table, Darcy found the conversation to be somewhat of a relief. Lady Catherine had already asked him all manner of prying questions, and she now seemed content to turn her attentions to their guests in order to ascertain whether their statuses had changed in any way and whether they were facing any quandaries and desperately needing advice. Mr. Collins appeared more than willing to grace Lady Catherine with the minute details of his life, and Mrs. Collins occasionally chimed in with statements or questions meant to either curtail her husband's sometimes fumbling eagerness or please her husband's ever-lofty patroness.

As Darcy watched Miss Bennet, he noticed her quietly eating her food. She would speak when spoken to, but she offered no conversation of her own; certainly, the matter of dinner talk was more than covered by Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins alone without anyone needing to add to it. He found himself wondering what she was thinking. Were her thoughts concerned with Wickham? He still had not seen the man, but that did not mean he was not around.

At one point, Miss Bennet looked up and saw him gazing at her, and she smiled. He gave a nod toward her, and she returned her attention back to her plate.

Not long after that, Anne engaged him in conversation, but it was brief, and she soon went back to silence.

After dinner, they went to the drawing-room. Miss Bennet sat down, and after some slight hesitation, he took a seat near her.

Gazing steadily at her, he asked: "Are you still a great walker, Miss Bennet?"

"Indeed, I am, Mr. Darcy. I find there is nothing to clear one's head as well as a walk."

"And you read still, yes?" For some reason, he was certain that what he recalled of her could not be true, as if she were something he had conjured up in a dream.

"Yes, I do," acknowledged she with a smile. She lowered her voice, as if she were divulging a secret. "But I am afraid Mr. Collins does not have much of a library to speak of. Religious texts are fine enough to read, but I had much rather spend a little time with the Bard."

"And what are your favorites, Miss Bennet? Shakespeare's sonnets?" Their conversation was moving just as easily as he remembered it had in London.

"'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'" quoted she with a smile. "His sonnets are enjoyable, certainly. But one must not forget his plays. 'If we shadows have offended—'"

"'Think but this, and all is mended,'" finished Mr. Darcy. The corner of his mouth drew upward. "Do you like Robin Goodfellow, Miss Bennet?"

The expression on her face was almost a smirk. "I might."

"I should not be surprised. He is, after all, a mischievous character."

"Why, are you telling me that I delight in mischief, Mr. Darcy?"

"I am afraid that is something of which you are already well aware," said he lightly. "If a love potion were put in your hands, well, I fear what you would do with it."

Her face was definitely wearing a smirk now. "Perhaps you are right. After all, I might decide I should like to see what _you_ are like when in love, Mr. Darcy. Somehow, I could not see you composing your lady love sonnets."

"You are quite right. I should not know where to begin with writing a sonnet."

"You would need to begin with her eyes, I think. How about—'Your eyes, they shine so brightly like the stars—'"

He shook his head. "I think even I could write a line better than that."

Miss Bennet looked at him with a challenge sparkling in her eyes. "Are you certain, Mr. Darcy? You do not strike me as a romantic."

"'A brilliant glen is hidden in your eyes—'"

"Nephew!" called out the shrill voice of his aunt. "Of what are the two of you speaking? You look as though you are trading secrets."

"We are discussing poetry," said Darcy calmly.

She was staring at him and Miss Bennet with what seemed to be a suspicious look. "I was not even aware you liked poetry." She fixed her gaze on his female conversation partner and her lip curled into a slight sneer. "Miss Bennet, you should provide us with some music. I was not able to truly listen to you the other day when you played."

"Yes, your ladyship," said Miss Bennet as she stood and moved toward the instrument. Darcy got the impression that she would have sighed if she had been alone. He watched as she approached the pianoforte and examined the instrument. She searched, but apparently the search did not yield any music, and after a moment, she became a little flustered. Darcy was about to speak up when he saw her direct a glance at his aunt—who was once again conversing with the parson while surreptitiously watching Miss Bennet—before sitting down at the instrument. She closed her eyes and placed her fingers on the keys and then began playing "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night" from memory.

While the hymn itself was neither somber nor lively, there was something remarkable about the passion she managed to put into it. The caresses of her fingers seemed to breathe life into the pianoforte, and Darcy could hear the progression of words in his head just as clearly as if she had been singing them.

His aunt, however, had barely listened at all to Miss Bennet's playing before she saw fit to proclaim: "Miss Bennet, it is not Christmas; why do you play a Christmas hymn?"

"Perhaps it is because there is no music at the pianoforte and she is playing from memory," interjected Darcy.

Lady Catherine sniffed in disdain. "She should have several pieces memorized so she may play them when there is nothing else suitable at hand. A Christmas carol is not appropriate for a spring evening." She listened critically for several moments before speaking again: "I do believe that your fingering is as deficient as your taste, Miss Bennet—you could undoubtedly use more practice time. I daresay you would do better if you would spend your days in front of the instrument rather than traipsing throughout the countryside."

Darcy's countenance darkened as he watched something flicker across the young woman's face. She continued to play, but something of the vigor was lost.

Turning to look at his aunt, Darcy said: "I believe she plays admirably, and her choice of music is light and pleasing."

Lady Catherine shook her head. "You do not know music so well as I do. There is something lacking—"

"I am surprised at your words, Aunt, as I do not recall you being able to play _any_ instrument. There is nothing lacking at all in Miss Bennet's performance."

"No, you see—"

And then, Darcy, unable to listen to any more of his aunt's criticism, began to sing loudly:

"'The heavenly babe you there shall find  
To human view displayed,  
All meanly wrapped in swathing bands  
And in a manger laid...  
And in a manger laid.'"

His aunt's face was all astonishment. Her chin dipped down as she tried to speak, but no words came out of her mouth—perhaps because of the force of Darcy's voice. Her annoyance then grew to an almost palpable point, yet she was obviously not willing to displease her nephew. She simply raised her head and glowered at Miss Bennet, as if the young woman were the cause of her troubles.

For herself, Elizabeth appeared as astonished as Lady Catherine, though she masked it much better than his aunt. While her playing never faltered, Darcy thought he could detect a flicker of gratitude in the depths of her eyes.

As Darcy continued to sing—and Miss Bennet continued to play with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth—he glanced over at Mr. Collins and was surprised to see the parson was also glaring at the pianoforte player.

The parson then actually moved toward Miss Bennet and said to her in a low voice—which Darcy could just barely hear by stepping forward—"Have you bewitched Mr. Darcy? Why is he singing as _you_ play?"

Darcy moved even closer to the pair, and Mr. Collins flushed upon noticing him. "M—Mr. Darcy," stuttered the parson.

"What were you saying, Mr. Collins?"

"Nothing at all," said the man in a small voice before retreating to a safer region of the room.

It was all Darcy could do to keep from scowling. The parson disgusted him.

And—though he hated to admit it—his petty aunt often disgusted him, too.


	49. Chapter XLIX

**Previously:** The Collinses and Elizabeth are invited to dinner at Rosings. Darcy defends Elizabeth.

* * *

**Chapter XLIX**

Mary Collins, née Bennet, was content with her life. As the middle of five daughters and having grown up hearing comparisons between their beauty and her lack thereof, she had surprised everyone by becoming the first to be married—though it was true that they had all, for a time, thought Elizabeth was to be married first. Thus, it was not Jane's beauty or Elizabeth's personality which had first attracted a husband, but Mary's practicality and pious nature which had done the trick.

Oh, she was aware that naysayers—had they known the true story—would point out the fact that Jane had been Mr. Collins' first choice, but Mary discounted that consideration out of hand. Mr. Collins _had_ been enamored with Jane's beauty, but there were few men who were not, after all. But Mary was convinced that Jane would not have made Mr. Collins a good wife. There was nothing at fault in Jane's manners or her character, but Mr. Collins was a man who required a wife who was capable of subtly guiding him, and Mary knew Jane was far too self-effacing and thought too well of others to do anything of the sort.

Mary had been pleasantly surprised when she had arrived at Hunsford. The parsonage was not large, but it was comfortable and clean, the gardens were delightful, and the people in the congregation, who had gone without a pastor's wife for many years—the previous parson having been a widower for more than a decade—were welcoming and grateful for everything she did on their behalf.

Even Lady Catherine, who Mary had been concerned about meeting, had not turned out to be as difficult as Mary had feared. In fact, the manner in which she dealt with the lady was the one thing about which Mary was the proudest.

In dealing the Lady Catherine and her husband, Mary had to acknowledge the fact that neither was particularly gifted intellectually. Mr. Collins was in general a good husband. He was solicitous of her comfort, he was industrious—spending time writing his sermons or working in his garden when he was not about doing his work with the people of the parish—and he was quick to ask her opinion about the matters over which he presided and intelligent enough to understand that she could help him a great deal in all aspects of his life. Of the Lady, there was not much to say—she was meddling to a fault, and she had little understanding of the true way of life of those below her station. Her general method of dealing with a problem was to browbeat those involved into doing exactly as she desired, hardly something which would endear her to those around her.

Lady Catherine served as the one area in which there was potential for misunderstanding and discord in the Collins's marriage. Mr. Collins was so deferential and downright obsequious when it came to his patroness that Mary—though she suspected it before even arriving at Hunsford—knew within moments of seeing them together that she would be unable to wean her husband from the Lady's influence as she had initially planned upon. Therefore, if she would not be able to induce him to rely more upon her council than the lady's, then she would have no choice but to ensure she was agreeable to the lady. Therefore, Mary went out of her way to ensure that Lady Catherine never had anything to complain about, and she followed her ladyship's instructions to the letter, even if she felt Lady Catherine was in error. Keeping harmony, after all, was more important a consideration than always having her own way. However, she had also had great success in guiding Mr. Collins away from the lady's advice at times, often guiding him toward a slightly different approach, which perhaps the lady had not intended, but which would nevertheless not put him in direct conflict with her. The perils of this approach were great, so she only did it when it dealt with a matter of import in which she felt the lady's directions would make a situation worse.

Yes, Mary was happy in her new life, and the arrival of her sister made her happiness complete, even if Elizabeth—whose behavior Mary truly could not fault—did not seem to garner Lady Catherine's approval as Mary herself had done. Elizabeth was not to stay long in Hunsford, and while Elizabeth held her outspoken nature in check, Mary knew there would be little lasting effect in her relationship with her husband's patroness.

The final piece of the puzzle which would guarantee her happiness had been confirmed that very afternoon. Mary had been feeling somewhat poorly for the past few weeks, and suspecting a very welcome condition, she had visited the doctor and been pronounced to be expecting. Happy as she had ever in her life been, Mary returned home that afternoon, anxious to tell her husband the joyous news. The conversation, however, did not proceed in the manner she had expected.

"Mary, come into my bookroom, please," directed her husband as soon as she entered the house. "A matter of a most serious nature has occurred."

Concerned, Mary followed him to his room and sat across the desk from him as he paced the small space behind the piece of furniture. His face was pale, and he was sweating—he did not look well at all, and Mary was forced to remember that he had indeed been a little under the weather the past few days.

"What is it, Mr. Collins? Are you ill?"

"I am fine, my dear," replied Mr. Collins as he waved her concern off impatiently. "I received a letter which has worried me greatly from my cousin Delilah Hampton this morning. In it, I learned that her mother, Sophia, has taken ill, and they do not know if she shall recover."

"Sophia is your late mother's sister, is she not?"

"She is. Once I had read the letter, I immediately hastened to Rosings to ask Lady Catherine's opinion and hear her wisdom, for she is so knowledgeable about many things indeed. Her ladyship's advice mirrored my own opinion—I must go to London and visit her."

It was so like Mr. Collins to value the lady's opinion over that of his own wife, but by now Mary was used to the fact that anything of import would be decided upon by his patroness and relayed to Mary after the fact. She did not always like it, but she was generally forced to accept it nonetheless.

"Of course you must go," said she. "Am I to understand that Lady Catherine has given you permission to absent yourself from the parsonage?"

"Indeed, she has." His voice took on a pompous tone, and he straightened visibly as he spoke of his mistress—in fact, it was somewhat amusing that the only time he was straight in posture and confident in tone was when he was quoting his patroness verbatim. "Lady Catherine was gracious in condescending to advise me on the subject, but so she always is. 'Mr. Collins,' said she, 'of course you must journey to London to visit with your lady aunt. Family is so very important, after all, and your cousin will be fortunate to have your assistance and will undoubtedly take comfort in your presence. No one takes as much true enjoyment in the company of those of close familial ties as I, I suppose—I take great delight in my nephews' visits every year, as you well know, and have advised them many times that they should come more often. Be that as it may, there is nothing to come in the way of family obligations, and I therefore command you to leave as soon as may be.'

"It is so very wonderful that I am so in tune with my good patroness that my thoughts on the matter mirrored hers so closely, and I am determined to depart for my cousin's house immediately. Therefore, I shall be leaving early tomorrow and will likely not return for at least a week's time."

Mary was crestfallen. She had so looked forward to informing her husband of the imminent arrival of an addition to their little family, and she now learned that he was to leave the next day. Making an immediate decision, Mary resolved to keep the news to herself until he returned, as he would need to focus his energy upon his aunt and not concern himself with her.

"Of course you need to go, Mr. Collins," said she with a smile. "I will prepare for your departure in the morning. You must make certain to keep me advised as to any changes in your aunt's condition."

"I will," replied Mr. Collins, his face lightening in an affectionate smile. His countenance was not handsome, but when he showed his affection for her, it did something to his face which made it much more agreeable—at least to Mary. "I thank you, my wife, for being so understanding and supporting me during such times of need."

"You need not thank me, sir. It is the least that any wife could do for her husband."

Mr. Collins accepted her words with a smile, but when he turned and glanced out the window, his smile ran away from his countenance, and a firm mask of disapproval descended in its place. Bewildered at this sudden change in his mood, Mary moved to see what had caught his attention and was unsurprised to see her sister approaching the parsonage from the direction of Rosings. What had undoubtedly caught Mr. Collins' disapproval was the fact that she was accompanied by Mr. Darcy.

They had reached the gate, and Mary witnessed Mr. Darcy stop and open it for Elizabeth. Then he took her hand and bowed over it before retreating in the direction of his aunt's estate while her sister entered the house. Knowing Mr. Collins had not been pleased over what he considered Elizabeth's improper advances toward Mr. Darcy, Mary attempted to smooth over the worst of his ill-humor by directing the conversation toward other matters, but Mr. Collins was quiet after the incident, never regaining the happy mood which had subsisted previously. At length, Mary was able to convince her husband to take a short nap before dinner.

The matter of Elizabeth was one in which Mary had been quite unable to sway Mr. Collins—Mr. Darcy's startling display during their last invitation to dinner at Rosings had cemented in his mind that Elizabeth was somehow attempting to draw Mr. Darcy in. The fact that Elizabeth had been demurely quiet all evening—and had generally only spoken when spoken to—had not entered his mind. And while Elizabeth had been careful to display no marked preference toward Mr. Darcy—thus satisfying Lady Catherine that she had no designs on the lady's nephew, despite said nephew's actions—Mr. Collins still subscribed to his theory of Elizabeth's duplicity and had taken every opportunity to remind her of her lowly station and of her unsuitability for the nephew of his patroness. Elizabeth had thus far borne his censure with dignity and restraint, but Mary, who was well acquainted with her sister's moods, could see in her manner the way it was beginning to wear on her. Perhaps the absence of Mr. Collins was coming at a fortuitous juncture after all.

Dinner that evening was subdued, with Mary directing the conversation in as neutral a manner as possible. The subject of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy was not brought up at all, though Mr. Collins did make a point to expound upon the proper behavior of _unmarried_ young ladies on more than one occasion. Elizabeth, obviously understanding his reference to herself, wisely kept her own council, though her mouth did tighten in a clear sign of displeasure more than once during Mr. Collins' monologues.

The next morning, Mary saw her husband off with some relief—the days away from Kent would undoubtedly restore his equilibrium, and by the time he returned, Elizabeth would only stay a few more weeks before she herself would be leaving.

After Mr. Collins' departure, Mary was in the midst of sharing her good news with her sister, prompting Elizabeth's sincere congratulations, when they were interrupted by the bell announcing a visitor to the parsonage

It was the beginning of a very interesting morning for Mary, for, while she was not a studier of character as her elder sister was, one could hardly miss the various emotional undercurrents caused by their visitors. And, as none of the visitors were for _her_, Mary could largely sit back and enjoy the scenes as they played out.

The first caller was James Baker, and though Mary had lived in the neighborhood for almost four months, she still was not certain she had the measure of him. At first glance, Mr. Baker almost appeared as a rake, and rumors of his exploits with the young ladies of the area—and in town—were plentiful. If even half of them were true, then Mr. Baker was to be watched with her elder sister.

Quickly, however, Mary had begun to determine that though Mr. Baker seemed ready enough to call on Elizabeth, his heart truly was not into it. He smiled and flirted and made himself agreeable, but for whatever reason, though it was obvious he found her attractive and pleasant, his interest in Elizabeth appeared to be lukewarm. At least, that was what she thought—it _was _difficult to tell, after all, due to Mary's lack of true understanding concerning the man. And as she had never witnessed him with any other eligible young ladies, it was possible that she might simply not understand him, but she did not think so. Moreover, knowing his sister—who Mary saw as more conniving than she showed to the world—Mary was convinced that Elia was at least somewhat to blame for Mr. Baker's attention to Elizabeth, though Mary was uncertain whether she truly wished Elizabeth to marry her brother or whether she was following some other agenda.

Elizabeth's feelings were easier to understand. Though she spoke with him animatedly and with enjoyment, she did not show any true measure of regard, certainly not what Mary had witnessed those years ago when Elizabeth had been courted by Wickham.

Speaking of the cad, it was not until _he_ arrived that the dynamic in the room changed. They had seen Wickham only a few fleeting times since his arrival in Kent—and not at all since Mr. Darcy's arrival. Elizabeth, though she had heard nothing specific, had even described Mr. Darcy's behavior whenever the man's name was mentioned, leaving the sisters to believe that there was some form of bad blood between the two. Though Mary did not trust the man, and he continued showing Elizabeth the same smooth and playful attention that he had in the past, it was of some comfort to Mary to see that Elizabeth was not affected by him in the slightest.

When Wickham was announced, he insolently greeted them with the most insincere flattery before being introduced to Mr. Baker. The gentlemen were both somewhat quiet for several moments as they appeared to size one another up. It was after Wickham apparently dismissed the master of Stauneton Hall and focused on Elizabeth when Baker's hackles appeared to be raised, and the two men began competing for Elizabeth's attention, giving each other dark looks and generally causing Mary's sister to regard them both with exasperation.

The most interesting scenes, however, took place once Darcy had arrived on the scene—it was almost inevitable that the man should show up, Mary reflected, considering the way the morning had gone thus far. And the fact that—according to her husband—he had rarely visited in the past meant nothing, as her sister Elizabeth, with whom he appeared to enjoy conversing and with whom he had formed a friendship, had not been a resident of Hunsford in the past.

When he was shown into the parlor, his face immediately reddened in anger, and he stared at Wickham pointedly.

"What are you doing here, Wickham?" demanded he before any introductions could be made.

"The same as you, I should imagine," was the insolent response. "I have known these excellent ladies for some time now, and I am simply visiting to renew my acquaintance."

Eager to avoid a confrontation, Mary interrupted their tense standoff. "We have not seen you much in recent days, Mr. Wickham."

"I was away finishing my business in the area," replied Wickham. "But once it was completed, nothing could keep me away from the agreeable company I find here, and the prospect of basking in your sister's presence was too much of a chance to pass up." The last was said with a bow and a devastating smile at Elizabeth, who colored and looked away.

"If that was all, you should not have come, sir," said Elizabeth with some rancor.

"Just what is your game here, Wickham?" demanded Darcy angrily. His countenance had become even darker with Wickham's declaration for regard for Elizabeth, and now he appeared ready to strangle the scoundrel at any moment. "Is there not some _rock _under which you should be hiding?"

"Just because _you_ cannot be civil in company does not mean that I should avoid my friends, Darcy. There is no reason to be rude."

"With you, Wickham, there is _always_ reason for rudeness. Now I suggest you find that rock I mentioned and return to it forthwith. I do not appreciate you imposing yourself upon ladies of quality and will have you at the end of my blade if I must!"

A spasm of fear crossed Wickham's countenance, only to be quickly replaced with a look of studied nonchalance. "It appears I am not welcome here by _some_ of the company, Mrs. Collins, so it seems I must take my leave."

"_Those _are the first true words you have spoken since you arrived, Mr. Wickham," responded Mary, coming to a sudden resolution. Wickham obviously made Elizabeth uncomfortable, and she would not have her sister bothered by the man who had already hurt her once. "Given your history with my family, I must ask you to leave and not return."

Though he appeared to be momentarily angry, his displeasure was soon masked. "I am sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Collins. I have only ever been polite to you."

"And you have never had anything but your own selfish interests at heart, sir," jibed Mary in response. "I shall have my husband endorse my demand upon his return, if you wish to have the matter confirmed by the head of this house."

"I assure you, madam, that no such measures are required."

With that, Mr. Wickham rose and quit the room. Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief, and the company relaxed and descended into desultory conversation. With the departure of the unlamented Mr. Wickham, Mr. Baker returned to his previous form, seemingly recognizing that Elizabeth did not require him to protect her from Mr. Darcy. That gentleman, for his part, seemed to retreat into the mask he had sometimes worn in Hertfordshire, though he did rouse himself whenever Baker spoke to Elizabeth. He appeared wary of the young man, though not to the extent he had been of Wickham. Most of his attention appeared to be fixed upon Elizabeth, and though he did not speak a lot, he paid her more attention—and his gaze was fixed upon her—than he had ever done with Anne. Of Elia, Mary could not say, never having seen them together previously.

Lady Catherine had waxed poetic upon the expected union between Mr. Darcy and her daughter, but since Mary had come to the area, she had also heard of some expectations of a match between the gentleman and Miss Baker. Obviously, the lady had not learned anything of them—one did not bring up such rumors in Lady Catherine's presence, after all—but that did not mean they did not exist.

But what of Mr. Darcy's continued scrutiny of Elizabeth? Did he have some knowledge of Wickham and wish to protect her, or was there something to Mr. Collins' continued diatribe about Elizabeth that was catching his attention? Elizabeth—despite what Mr Collins said—was obviously not to blame for the man's attention, as, though she spoke to him with the same pleasure as when she spoke to _anyone_, she made no attempt to garner any more of his attention than he already seemed willing to give. But after a morning spent observing them, it was equally obvious that there was something more to Mr. Darcy's scrutiny than mere protectiveness.

By the time the gentlemen had departed, Mary was not certain of anything. She did know, however, that there was much more going on under the surface—and that the situation bore watching.


	50. Chapter L

**Previously:** Mary learns she is pregnant, but before she can tell her husband, he tells her he is leaving to visit a sick relative. When Wickham comes to visit, he is told to leave by Darcy and Mary.

* * *

**Chapter L**

Not long after facing that insufferable blackguard at Hunsford—a part of him really wished he _had_ been able to have the man at the end of his blade—Darcy went to dinner at Stauneton Hall.

His aunt and Anne had both rejected the invitation, and the former had even encouraged him to do the same. He had refused—he _was _considering marrying Miss Baker, after all, and he would not allow his aunt to dictate his life—and when he saw Miss Baker, he offered an excuse for both his aunt and his cousin, not wishing to offend her.

In truth, however, he was puzzled. Miss Baker's once-amiable relationship with Anne appeared to have dissolved completely. He was uncertain what had happened to produce such a drastic change, and when he had tried to pull Anne aside to delicately ask her about it, she had deflected his questions. It was obvious she did not wish to talk about it. But Darcy knew it had to be something serious indeed—severing a friendship was not something to be taken lightly among their social circles. Though the two women did not seem inclined to make the estrangement public, it was still disturbing nonetheless.

Surprisingly, however, it appeared that Elizabeth Bennet was on friendly terms with both women, as he knew of her visiting both ladies even since his arrival. Although Darcy was not quite certain how Miss Baker viewed Miss Bennet, he knew that Anne was friendly, though distant, as he would have guessed from a daughter of Lady Catherine's. For a moment, Darcy almost considered asking Miss Bennet for an account of how the two young ladies had come to have their falling out, but knowing that such an application was not entirely proper—and that Elizabeth might not wish to tell tales of such things—he abstained.

The Bakers had only two guests, Darcy and Miss Bennet. Whereas Darcy had to give an excuse for his aunt and cousin, Miss Bennet had to offer one for her sister and brother-in-law. Her brother-in-law had apparently left to visit an ill relative, and her sister was not feeling well. As a result of these absences, dinner felt like a most intimate affair.

Darcy was seated by Miss Baker, whereas Elizabeth was placed near James Baker, causing Darcy to raise an eyebrow—it appeared like Miss Baker had planned it by design, but was it due to her assumption of an intimacy between herself and Darcy? Or one between her brother and Miss Bennet? Darcy was not certain he even wished to speculate on such a manner.

After they were served their first course, Miss Baker immediately set upon asking him questions about what had happened since they had last seen each other.

"After all," said she, "it has been practically an age since we last spoke. I daresay I could have made a thousand reticules in the interim!"

"I suspect you exaggerate, Miss Baker."

"Perhaps you are correct. The stitches are so small, and I would probably have pricked my finger into such a wretched state if I had tried to sew so many purses! You would not wish to look upon my hand in such a case, I am certain!"

"Then let us be glad you did not attempt such an endeavor." He stared at the woman with the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. She was very pleasing to look upon, and his interactions with her always filled him with dark amusement. Yet as he moved his gaze to Miss Bennet, he felt the vestiges of humor disappear. Yes, Miss Baker made him darkly amused. But Miss Bennet made him truly amused—and utterly enchanted. Even now, she was speaking animatedly with Baker. Not even that man seemed completely immune to her charms.

Though Darcy's acquaintance with Baker was nothing like Darcy's friendship with Bingley, Darcy was well aware of what sort of man Baker was. Baker was often spontaneous, and he would often pursue things he believed would have a bit of fun in them. It would not be utterly unexpected for Baker to make a sudden proposal to someone as playful as Miss Bennet. After all, a life with her would certainly never be boring. Though Baker did not seem enamored of the young woman, Darcy was certain the other man would recognize there was pleasure to be had by being in the frequent presence of Miss Bennet.

Baker was not exactly a rake, yet he did seem to immensely enjoy being in the company of women. Part of Darcy worried that he might take advantage of Miss Bennet, yet he pushed the notion away; he knew that Baker would never hurt a gentlewoman. Baker did keep at least one eye on his reputation, after all—and besides that, he was not immoral. Baker would never set out to ruin a young woman.

Still, the thought of Baker and Miss Bennet being together bothered him. Baker was not quite intelligent enough to truly match Miss Bennet on intellectual grounds. If it came to setting their minds against each other, Miss Bennet would be the victor without question. If they did marry, however, all the advantages would be on Miss Bennet's side from a social viewpoint.

"Do they not make such a lovely pair?" cooed a soft voice.

He turned to look at Miss Baker, who had evidently noticed him staring at Miss Bennet and Baker. He was not certain how to respond—the question, "Are they engaged?" suddenly wanted to jump to his lips, but he pushed it aside as ludicrous—so he remained quiet.

Fortunately, Miss Baker did not wait long before speaking again. "I have told my brother more than once that Miss Bennet would make a fine wife. She is a lovely young woman, is she not?"

He looked back at Miss Bennet, who was trying to hide a smile as Baker leaned conspiratorially toward her to tell her something. Then, Miss Bennet laughed, her bright eyes shining as she responded to whatever Baker had said, and Darcy felt his mood simultaneously lighten and darken—something that appeared to happen too frequently around that young woman. "Yes," murmured he, "I suppose she is."

Miss Baker soon called his attention back to her as she began to complain about the unfortunate soiling of her favorite handkerchief, and Darcy—though bothered by the direction in which his thoughts were traveling—could not help but think that conversation with Elia Baker was nothing like conversation with Elizabeth Bennet. After all, the latter challenged him in a way that the former did not.

But surely that was not what was needed in a wife. No—the beautiful young Miss Baker was a much better match. Combining her connections with his own would mean a bright future for any of his heirs.

As he tried to concentrate on what Miss Baker was saying, he found himself staring at Elizabeth once again. Miss Baker was the perfect match for him. So why was he continuing to think about Miss Bennet's bright eyes?


	51. Chapter LI

**Previously:** Darcy and Elizabeth go to Stauneton Hall for dinner, where Elia Baker pairs herself with Darcy and Elizabeth with James.

* * *

**Chapter LI**

Mr. Collins was not an exceptionally bright individual. In fact, that statement was akin to claiming the ocean between England and her former colonies was a mud puddle. Mr. Bennet had never felt that fact so keenly than at the present moment, when the sweating figure of the man sat across the desk from him with a decidedly pale cast to his face. He looked unwell, sneezing and coughing into his handkerchief while wheezing his protestations that he was very well indeed—he insisted that he had merely had come down with a small indisposition. To a man of Mr. Bennet's uncertain health and tendency to catch every little ague which at times swept through the small community, the presence of a less than healthful—and less than intelligent—man in his bookroom was decidedly unwelcome. As were the words the man spoke.

It had started as a typical day for the master of Longbourn. He had arisen early, as was his wont—all the ill health in the world could not cause his body to sleep late, it appeared—said a few words to his wife and youngest daughter, and then retreated to his room, already missing his elder daughters.

At times, it seemed a difficult life for Mr. Bennet. Oh, he was of a privileged class, he knew, and even his small estate, which could not make his family wealthy, allowed them to at least live a more comfortable lifestyle than most of those in the world could boast.

No, Mr. Bennet's particular form of complaint against the world had more to do with two things in his life: his health and the absence of four of his daughters.

He remembered when, as a young man, he had enjoyed a constitution very similar to that of his acquaintances. Though he had never been a particularly active man, he had at least been able to do whatever he had wanted, when he wanted, with little or no fuss. His current state could not be attributed to any specific event or period in life. It merely seemed that as he became older, his body was not functioning as well as it had when he was a young man. He was well aware that this was the nature of life and that every man could expect infirmity to approach as he aged. But it did not follow that a man of less than fifty years should constantly feel as though he had run for miles every day, nor did others of his acquaintance and of a similar age appear to be constantly ill as he was.

But though he had dealt with this weakness of body for some time now, it was not truly that which affected his melancholy—rather, it was the lack of his daughters by his side.

They were growing and becoming beautiful young ladies, and he knew the time was coming when they would find worthy young men of their own. He would no longer be the most important man in his daughters' lives.

It was selfish, Mr. Bennet knew, but he wished to hold on to his daughters for a few more years, enjoying their society and watching them as they continued to mature and grow. But he knew it was likely not to be—Mary had already left the nest, Jane appeared to be well on her way to being engaged to that Bingley fellow, and Elizabeth… Suffice it to say that Mr. Bennet did not think Elizabeth, with her beauty—which _he_ considered a match for Jane's—and her sparkling personality, would fail to attract some young man with enough intelligence to understand her worth meant far more than the nonexistent dowry which she would bring to a marriage.

It appeared that his worrying for his eldest was a thing of the past. Though her letters had been cheerful, as was her wont, it was his letters from Jane which illuminated the fact that though Elizabeth had had to be dragged into society that winter, she had gone with grace and dignity, and ever-increasing interest. He had been worried—even as he enjoyed her company while the family was away at various events—about her lack of enthusiasm for society, as she had been so social in the past. But now, though it was perhaps not forgotten, at least she appeared to be on the mend—the damage done to her by that cad was now a thing of the past, and his Elizabeth appeared to be willing to once again live her life rather than wallow in bitterness.

Mr. Bennet had not been best pleased when he found out that Wickham—the aforementioned cad—had not only called on his wife and youngest daughter without their informing him, but that they had accepted him into their home with nary a thought as to what the man had done in the past. The conversation had not been pleasant, and it was one of the few times in memory that the master of Longbourn had lost his temper with his wife.

* * *

"But he was such a pleasant young man," wailed his wife in her distress. "And he was so particularly attached to our Elizabeth."

"Do you not recall how he left her," demanded Mr. Bennet, "when she had every right to expect an offer from him? Do you not recall how long it has taken Elizabeth to get over her disappointment? How she has avoided and shunned society and retreated into herself? Our Elizabeth was a sparkling and witty young woman who was the belle of any ball, and now she can barely bring herself to even attend such an event, let alone dance. And you welcome the rogue who brought her to that state into our home?"

"Elizabeth is well, Mr. Bennet," cried Mrs. Bennet, waving him off as though he was a small child. "Mr. Wickham is now a widower, you know. He told us of how he met his wife and of the sudden manner in which he fell in love with her. You cannot fault a man for his feelings, can you?"

Not believing what he was hearing, Mr. Bennet gaped at his wife.

Unseeing—or uncaring—of his stupefied state, Mrs. Bennet continued:

"Now, however, he has returned, and his feelings for Elizabeth appear to be as strong as they ever were. I dare say that if we encourage them in the slightest, we may well hear wedding bells for our eldest before long."

"Mrs. Bennet, I have heard inanities from you aplenty, but I never dreamed you could be _this_ _senseless_."

Mr. Bennet was actually shaking from barely suppressed rage, and Mrs. Bennet, though perhaps not completely understanding her husband's anger, at least appeared to have finally recognized that he was most seriously displeased.

"If you think for even a moment that I would consent to such a marriage—even if Elizabeth herself should be irrational enough to give her own consent—then you are more foolish than I could have believed possible. The man hurt and exposed your daughter to ridicule after paying attention solely to her and, I dare say, engaging his own honor in the matter. Leaving her for another when he had led her on in such a manner was _not_ the action of a gentleman, despite how he may protest his 'sudden love' for this other woman.

"And though you may not have thought of the matter in the slightest, I would remind you that although Mr. Wickham has displayed his charming manners and agreeable nature to the neighborhood, he was most reticent in sharing anything about his past with _anyone_, even our Elizabeth. He was most adept at _assuring_ us that he was a gentleman, but he was most _deficient_ in acting like one or proving himself worthy of the title. Did you ever hear of him talk of his family, his estate, or anything of substance about his past?"

When Mrs. Bennet shook her head mutely, he continued:

"He did not. And I think it likely that he was not explicit because there was nothing to share. Mr. Wickham's actions, far from being worthy of being considered gentlemanly, are, when one closely examines them, more in line with his being a fortune hunter."

"How can you say that, Mr. Bennet?" exclaimed his wife. "He was most gentlemanlike in his manner and address—"

"And nothing like one in his actions! He could easily have considered Elizabeth the heiress to this estate when he first came—we endeavor to avoid discussion of the entailment, after all. But it appears to me that he found out and then turned his attention to some other woman he could marry for her fortune. Now, he has likely exhausted that woman's money and is actively seeking more. What his pursuit of Elizabeth specifically can entail, I know not—he knows that she does not have the resources to keep him financially, after all—but it cannot be good.

"I can also tell you that Elizabeth's farewell with Wickham when he left was not pleasant, and Mr. Wickham proved his lack of propriety without any doubt."

Mrs. Bennet was stunned. "Why was I not informed of this?" shrieked she.

"Because Elizabeth knew you could not be trusted not to proclaim the event in every parlor in Meryton!"

Knowing he was causing his wife distress, Mr. Bennet nevertheless continued on. Mrs. Bennet was not a vindictive person, and she generally meant well, but she needed to know that her actions were not having the effect she intended—indeed, he had allowed her to carry on thus for far too long.

"Mrs. Bennet, I am sorry to dismay you thus, but you must begin to think about your actions and words before blindly prattling on without any thought of the consequences. Elizabeth was afraid—quite rightly—that she would be tainted by Mr. Wickham's actions, though the man was not able to do what he obviously intended. He importuned her most inappropriately and was sent on his way. Society, however, could very well have ignored Elizabeth's response and focused on the impropriety of the his insinuations, and the effects to Elizabeth's reputation could have been disastrous.

"Now, believe me when I say, madam, that if I hear that even a single syllable of what we have discussed today about Elizabeth has been spoken of in town, you will be cut off of your allowance forthwith."

Mrs. Bennet's gasp of dismay, coupled with her horrified appearance, led Mr. Bennet to believe that he had proposed a punishment which was above anything else he could possibly have devised. If so, then so much the better.

"I am most displeased that you did not inform me of his call. In fact, if Elizabeth had not herself chanced to mention it in one of her letters, I believe I should never have known it at all. What possessed you to tell him where he could find our daughter? Are you completely insensible to the distress his sudden arrival caused?"

Mrs. Bennet's countenance paled, and her husband thought she was about to swoon. He smiled grimly—hopefully, she was beginning to understand the consequences of her actions. Confident he had her complete attention, he proceeded to inform her of his decision regarding Elizabeth's erstwhile suitor:

"In the future, Mrs. Bennet, if Mr. Wickham shows his face here again, you are to inform me _immediately!_ Under no circumstances are you to engage him in conversation, invite him to tea, or even meet his eyes in passing, and that stricture goes for Lydia as well. I will deal with the brigand the next time he appears, and I shall do so in a manner which will leave no doubt as to the extent of the welcome he will receive in this house or in our lives. Are we quite clear?"

Though Mrs. Bennet was stunned almost speechless, she nodded her head dumbly and made her way from the room posthaste. Mr. Bennet did not see her again for three days, as she kept to her room.

* * *

Now, he was faced with his cousin, and though he would have preferred to postpone the pleasure—perhaps permanently!—it appeared he did not have a choice. Almost the first words out of Mr. Collins' mouth, however, caught Mr. Bennet's attention, as he felt the ire which had built up during his tête-à-tête with his wife return in full force as he listened to the man unjustly attack his favorite daughter.

"Mr. Bennet," began the pompous man when the pleasantries—such as they were—had been exchanged. "I am here today to call upon you to discuss a matter of the most serious nature—a matter which is causing me the most grievous distress imaginable, of which, if I had not witnessed it myself, I would not have believed a sister of my most excellent wife to be capable. Though my Mary is of the most excellent disposition and highest moral fiber, I regretfully, though it brings me pain to speak of her favorite sister thus, must conclude that your eldest daughter is not made from the same upright standards as her younger sister."

Through narrowed eyes, Mr. Bennet glared at the sweating and sneezing countenance of his son-in-law. The man wilted slightly under his pointed gaze, but he held his ground with a slightly petulant huff.

"Of what can you be referring, Mr. Collins?" queried Mr. Bennet, his unfriendly feelings toward the man clearly showing in his abrupt demand. "I have received letters from both Elizabeth and Mary since Elizabeth has arrived in Kent, and they both have assured me that they are getting along famously and that they are quite content in one another's company. Surely you are not accusing my eldest of unkindness toward her sister."

"No, indeed not, Mr. Bennet. Cousin Elizabeth and Mary do very well together, and their sisterly fellowship is eminently proper and pleasant. I do not speak of specific injuries perpetrated against my wife by your eldest—no, not at all. It is other circumstances which have caused me distress—and, by association, caused distress to my most excellent patroness."

"Then you have come on an errand to complain of Elizabeth at the request of your patroness. Really, Mr. Collins, can you not be your own man? Must you always hurry hither and thither spouting the banalities of your patroness? You more closely resemble a dog submitting itself to its master than a man."

The paleness of Mr. Collins's features became a mottled red in anger. "I assure you I am not, Mr. Bennet. In fact, Lady Catherine knows nothing of my errand here today. _I_ am a clergyman, cousin, and am due the respect of my position, and my patroness is due the respect given her by dint of the position she holds and the nobility with which she was born!"

"And here I thought that a man was due only the respect of which he was deserving," was Mr. Bennet's retort. "Please say what you have to say, Mr. Collins, but leave out your fanciful thoughts of respect—and your imaginations about Elizabeth—and come to the point in a rational and _accurate_ manner."

Though apparently on the verge of apoplexy, Mr. Collins wiped his brow with great agitation. He looked about ready to collapse with whatever ailment he had been stricken, and Mr. Bennet wished to have him gone as soon as may be.

"I do not know why I have come here, indeed, I do not," whined Mr. Collins. "She is your favorite, and you will see no evil in her, I am certain.

"Miss Elizabeth has behaved in the most abominable manner possible since her arrival. She is impertinent and disrespectful toward _my _lady patroness when she ought to be silent and grateful for her ladyship's attentions and advice, which have not been inconsiderable and which have been most graciously bestowed. In addition, she has been most brazen in the use of her arts and allurements to entrap her ladyship's nephew Mr. Darcy most indecently, and in so doing, she has most grievously injured her ladyship. Miss Elizabeth knows of Mr. Darcy's engagement with Miss Anne and has willfully ignored the arrangement already subsisting in order to capture herself a husband of the highest circles and the greatest fortune. She should be censured, despised, and cast from your family immediately to reap the rewards of her infamous behavior!"

"Mr. Collins!" thundered Mr. Bennet. "You will now be silent! I will not stand by and allow you to defame my precious daughter any further. I have it on good authority that although she has been in company with Mr. Darcy, he has not breached propriety, nor has she had any wish for him to do so. Whatever you believe exists only in the imagination of yourself and your patroness and has no reflection on reality. Now, be silent, or I shall have you removed from this house forthwith!"

Mr. Collins' eyes protruded from his head most alarmingly, and though his mouth worked silently, no sound proceeded forth. He appeared about to respond when a frothing appeared from between his lips, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed, insensible, on the floor.

Though Mr. Bennet would have almost preferred to have kicked the man as he lay there, he sighed and immediately pulled the bell cord, summoning assistance to the room.

Mr. Collins was removed from the floor of Mr. Bennet's bookroom and installed in the room furthest from the occupied family apartments. A doctor was immediately sent for to see to the unconscious parson.

Mr. Bennet did not enter the man's room—it would not do for him to come down with whatever Mr. Collins had contracted—but his time spent listening to his son-in-law's rattling breaths was cause for some alarm. While he could not bring himself to spare Collins a moment's concern, he _was_ concerned for Mary and her comfort and happiness.

Once the doctor had examined his patient, the diagnosis was confirmed. Mr. Collins had contracted pneumonia.


	52. Chapter LII

**Previously:** Mr. Bennet takes Mrs. Bennet to task for speaking to Wickham. Mr. Collins goes to Longbourn to complain about Elizabeth, and collapses from pneumonia in Mr. Bennet's bookroom.

* * *

**Chapter LII**

Elizabeth was concerned for her sister. Mary, who had always been of a healthy and robust constitution and who had seemed hale when Elizabeth had arrived in Kent, had taken to being sickly of late, and there did not appear to be anything that could be done for her relief.

Trying to be of assistance to her sister, Elizabeth took to doing much of Mary's work around the parsonage, hoping that her support would allow Mary to rest and regain her previous vigor. She conferred with the servants when necessary, helped with the preparation of the menus, and assisted in the parish whenever required. She already knew that Mary was well respected by the members of her husband's flock due to her devotion to her duty and her willingness to do anything required by those under her care, and in this, Elizabeth tried to emulate her younger sister.

But nothing worked, and Mary, though she did not worsen, persisted in her poor health. It was all so maddening! The illness could strike her at any moment of the day or night, often sending Mary into the water closet, where she lost whatever she had managed to eat, or into her bed, where she would collapse in exhaustion. And though Elizabeth was quite concerned, Mary refused to send for an apothecary, insisting that she knew exactly what was wrong with her and that her condition would improve with time.

This went on for more than a week after her husband's departure, and though the time spent out of Mr. Collins' company was quite welcome indeed for Elizabeth, Mary seemed to feel his absence keenly, and her condition was certainly not helped by it.

Finally, on the morning exactly a week and a day after Mr. Collins' departure, an express arrived which was odd in that it came from Longbourn. As Mary was still abed due to the early hour—and her less than sound state of health—Elizabeth paid the express rider and asked that he tarry in the kitchen for a few moments in case there was a reply to be made. The messenger gratefully accepted the invitation, and Elizabeth, fearing what the letter might hold, immediately repaired to the sitting room. Taking a deep breath, she opened the missive, noting the date as being the previous day.

_My dearest daughters,_

_It is my sad duty to inform you of the illness of Mr. Collins. I had retired to my bookroom after luncheon when Mr. Collins surprised me with his visit and an application for a private discussion with me. I shall not concern you with an account of that meeting—suffice it to say that during the course of our tête-à-tête, we both became rather animated, and Mr. Collins, who had seemed rather ill from the outset, collapsed on my bookroom floor. He was immediately installed in one of the guestrooms, and a doctor was summoned. I truly wish I could tell you that there is no need to fear, but the doctor's immediate diagnosis was that Mr. Collins has contracted pneumonia, and the prognosis is uncertain._

_Mary, my daughter, I grieve and sympathize with you in this difficult time. Lean on your sister for support, as I believe her presence with you at this moment is truly a gift from God. You may be certain that Mr. Collins will be given the best of care while he is under my roof, and every possible action to restore his health will be taken._

_I shall write again when I have further word. Take heart, and hope for the best._

_Thomas Bennet_

To say Elizabeth was shocked and grieved would have been a rather large understatement. She had not noticed anything amiss with Mr. Collins when he had left, but then again, she had always attempted to spend as little time in his company as she possibly could. And now the man had been struck down by a potentially fatal illness.

Above all, Elizabeth worried for her sister's well-being and state of mind. Mary had almost wilted since the departure of her husband, and her already poor level of fitness was in danger of being exacerbated by this news. For a moment, Elizabeth even considered withholding this information for fear of her sister's reaction, but she discarded the notion immediately. Not only was Mary entitled to the news, but if the worst should happen, Elizabeth knew that Mary would (rightly) never forgive her for not imparting her news when it had arrived.

With a sigh, she stood and, checking the time, saw she had a few moments before Mary would be up and about. She penned a quick response to her father, asking after his health and the extent of the threat to him. After seeing that the letter was delivered to the messenger with the instructions for the return journey, Elizabeth made her way to Mary's room, determined to support her sister in any way possible.

Mary was in her room, and the maid was styling her hair for the day. Her color appeared better than it had for several days, and Elizabeth wished it was not necessary to give her grief—she feared Mary's reaction.

Dismissing the maid—who had completed her task in any case—Elizabeth tenderly embraced Mary and let her to a nearby chair. She did not know how to impart the news, so she decided that it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.

"Mary, I am sorry to say it, but I have just received some difficult news from Longbourn."

"Is it our father?" said Mary with a gasp.

"No, Mary, our father is well. Unfortunately, it is Mr. Collins."

Confused, Mary simply stared at her sister.

"Mary, according to Father, Mr. Collins arrived to speak to him yesterday afternoon. I do not know what his errand was, and Father was not explicit, but some time after arriving, he collapsed in Father's bookroom, and a doctor was called."

Mary's face whitened in horror. "Is he..."

"He is alive," soothed Elizabeth. "The doctor has diagnosed pneumonia but could not say anything more than that. Perhaps you should read the letter for yourself."

Mary fairly snatched the letter from Elizabeth's hand. Elizabeth watched her as she read, seeing Mary's expression grow more horrified and noticing the way her sister pressed a hand to her mouth as the tears began falling from her eyes. When she was finished reading, Mary stared unseeing at the paper for several moments before it fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers. She flung herself into Elizabeth's arms, weeping her heartbreak, and Elizabeth, knowing there was nothing else she could do, held her sister and rocked her in her arms, crooning nonsensical sounds of love and support.

It was not long before Mary's distress brought on another one of her attacks, and though she heaved, little was expelled from her stomach due to the fact that she had not yet eaten anything that morning.

Elizabeth saw that her sister was changed into her nightgown and once again installed in her bed. She sat with Mary, holding her sister's hand and drying her tears with her handkerchief, lending what support she could to the stricken young woman.

At length, Mary turned her head toward Elizabeth, and her pale face formed into a sad smile. "I thank you, Elizabeth, for the prodigious amount of care you have given me and the duties you have taken upon yourself."

"It is the least I can do, Mary," replied Elizabeth with a soft smile for her sister. "We are sisters and thus must care for each other and bear each others' burdens."

"It is wonderful, Elizabeth. You truly are the best of sisters."

Blushing at the—undeserved, in her mind—praise, Elizabeth patted Mary's hand. "I only do what I must, Mary. You have not been well, and I want you to rest and regain your strength—I will correspond with Father and inform you as to your husband's condition. We must all pray for the best."

The responding expression from her sister was thoughtful and a trifle calculating. Elizabeth, uncertain as to what her sister was thinking, stayed silent, waiting for her sister to speak, wondering what it all meant.

"Elizabeth, I have a confession to make to you. I had intended to keep it secret until my husband returns, but I believe, due to his sickness, you should know."

Cocking her head to the side, Elizabeth gazed at her sister curiously.

"I see I have managed to tweak the infamous Lizzy curiosity," said Mary, a ghost of her old self appearing.

"Indeed, you have, Mary, and I should think you had best share your intelligence with me before the infamous Lizzy 'temper' makes its appearance."

Mary laughed. "Papa, was correct—it truly is a God-given gift to have you here with me now. I am so grateful.

"I know you have noticed my sickly state in recent days. Do you not have any inkling as to what ails me?"

"I do not," stated Elizabeth, her earlier grumpiness over her sister's insistence that she would not see an apothecary returning.

"It is common in my condition," continued Mary. "For you see, Elizabeth, the reason I have been so ill lately is because I am with child."

The expression on Elizabeth's face was suffused with a heartfelt joy. Mary was to be a mother, and Elizabeth the new baby's aunt!

"That is wonderful news, Mary!" cried Elizabeth, embracing her sister with enthusiasm. "I am so happy for you!"

"Thank you, Lizzy. I had hoped to tell Mr. Collins when he returns, but I am glad you are here and are the first to know."

"And you will tell Mr. Collins, God willing," said Elizabeth firmly. "I thank you for confiding in me, Mary, but this news, coupled with the the manner in which you have been unwell, induces me to believe we should call the doctor to once again visit and examine you."

And so the doctor was called, Mary's protestations notwithstanding, for Elizabeth declared that she would not take any chances with the health of her sister or of her sister's unborn child.

The doctor was very happy that Elizabeth had insisted, as he pronounced the pregnancy to be difficult thus far and said the strain of the news of her husband's illness was further taking its toll upon the young mother-to-be and, by extension, her child. He prescribed strict bed rest for Mary and advised her she should only be up and about if she felt truly well with no ill effects in the slightest. He also stated he would begin examining her at least twice a week in order to confirm her health and the continued well-being of her child.

Elizabeth, who was now running the house in Mary's stead, was adamant that the doctor's instructions be followed to the letter, and she insisted her sister stay in bed at least until further word of Mr. Collins' condition was made known to them. Indeed, she had little trouble persuading Mary that this was for the best, as the young woman was exhausted and listless due to her uncertainty and fear for her husband. Elizabeth saw that she was well fed and that she did not concern herself for the state of the house.

Of course, news of this sort could not be kept a secret, and though Elizabeth was not quite certain, she suspected that the servants spread the gossip throughout the town. It was later that afternoon when the parsonage was invaded by the nearby ladies paying their respects to the young wife. In particular, the denizens of Rosings Park and Stauneton Hall made their appearances within a few moments of each other.

Elia Baker arrived first, and though she was still a little silly and vain, she seemed genuinely concerned for Mary and exclaimed her sorrow for the trials the other woman was experiencing.

But when Anne and Lady Catherine arrived, it was obvious the temperature in the room had slipped below freezing in almost an instant. Elia and Anne were uniformly cold to each other, and Lady Catherine, while seeming mostly oblivious to the two young ladies' attitudes, nevertheless treated all and sundry as though they had no consequence at all in the world. She instead spouted off meaningless platitudes and inane advice on how Mary could cope, how Mr. Collins could recover, and how she herself, through the virtue of her exalted status, could _never_ fall ill in such a manner. Elizabeth could not stand two minutes of the woman's company before she was wishing Lady Catherine would leave them in peace.

It was not until almost the entire time of their visit had passed when Elizabeth noticed that Anne had had virtually nothing to add to the conversation other than a few trite words of supposed comfort to Mary and some glares at Elia. Such was perhaps unsurprising given Lady Catherine's propensity to dominate any room, but the lack of any communication from the young woman—even to Elizabeth who she had spoken with in a friendly, if somewhat superior manner in the past—_was_ unusual.

She was not able to dwell upon the puzzle for long, however, as the ladies soon departed after, leaving Elizabeth to care for her sister. The demands of the household then took hold, and Elizabeth found herself busy for most of the rest of the day. In her heart, she kept a prayer—she had never been close to Mr. Collins, but she prayed for his health and safe return. She could not bear to see her sister suffer thus.


	53. Chapter LIII

**Previously:** Elizabeth and Mary learn that Mr. Collins has pneumonia, and Mary tells Elizabeth that she is pregnant.

* * *

**Chapter LIII**

If Elizabeth had been dreading giving her sister the news of Mr. Collins's illness, it meant nothing in comparison to the sheer horror that overcame her upon reading the express she received on the sixth of April.

Elizabeth was leaving her Mary's room when the message arrived. She had been about to request the maid attend her sister. Mary, though her face had been solemn most of the time since she had heard the news about her husband's illness, was feeling well enough to go outside, and Elizabeth was eager to walk with her in the fresh air. Elizabeth sometimes believed that being bedridden was one of the worst things that could happen to a sick person, for it leant the situation a whiff of despair and even the hint of terminality, even if the illness was not overly severe. Since Mary had not been outside much lately, Elizabeth thought it all the more important that she go and escape the confines of the house. Fresh air could only do her good. Unfortunately, their pleasant walk was not to be.

When the letter was in hand, she went and sat down in the drawing-room, not certain what exactly the missive would hold. She suspected only that it had something to do with Mr. Collins. Unfortunately, she was right.

_Dearest Lizzy,_ began the letter in her father's script. Seeing another letter from her father so soon was enough to fill Elizabeth with dread, yet she continued to read on, her fingers tightly clutching the paper.

_I write specifically to you and not to Mary because the news I have to impart is not fit for her to learn from a piece of paper. Yet I must have out with it: Mr. Collins has passed away. The doctor seems to think the man's exertions had something to do with his passing. If Mr. Collins was so ill, I do not know why he insisted on traveling to speak with me, yet it seems he was faithful to his patroness unto his end._

_His body will be borne to Kent so that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and the members of his parish shall have their own closure. I do not know that Mary will wish to look upon him one last time, but if she does, then she shall have her chance._

_I am far more skilled at laughing at the foibles of others than offering sympathy, yet I ask that you give my condolences to your sister. I am feeling slightly unwell myself, but I do not believe I have caught pneumonia myself, though the doctor tells me to take it easy._

_Give Mary my best._

_Thomas Bennet_

Elizabeth clutched the letter to her chest and closed her eyes. She was already worrying for Mary's health, and now she had to tell her that her husband had died! She feared seeing Mary's reaction, but she had to tell her without delay.

Inhaling deeply, Elizabeth folded up the letter and stood. After placing it in a safe place, she walked to Mary's room. Her sister was alone inside, sitting in a rocking chair, while softly crooning a lullaby as her hand moved gently back and forth across her stomach. She looked happier than Elizabeth had seen her in days, and it nearly broke Elizabeth's heart to know that she would have to tell her sister that life as she had known it was over. A parsonage was nothing without a parson, and Hunsford could thus no longer be Mary's home.

"Mary," said Elizabeth at last with a gentle tone as she closed the door behind her.

"Lizzy," answered Mary warmly, her cheeks slightly pink, likely from the realization that her sister must have heard her. But then she saw the sober expression on Elizabeth's face, and she frowned. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh, Mary, I am so sorry. I received news from—from Longbourn. It is about Mr. Collins."

Mary stared at her, reading the expression in her eyes. Then her mouth tightened. "He is gone, Lizzy?" asked she softly.

"I am afraid so, Mary."

Mary turned away. Elizabeth was just barely able to see as Mary began to chew on her lips, and then she saw the glitter of falling tears.

Elizabeth moved to embrace her sister, who began crying quietly into her bosom. "I am so sorry, Mary," said Elizabeth soothingly. She did not know what else to say; all she had to offer was platitudes. Mary was newly married and with child—it was a wonder she did not collapse into an inconsolable puddle.

Yet Elizabeth could not muster up much grief for the man himself. She cared for him only insofar as he was a source of happiness for her sister.

"I know what you thought of him, Lizzy," came Mary's muffled voice. She pulled back her head and looked at her sister with tear-stained cheeks. "But he was a good man who was kind to me. I was happy with him. I shall—I shall miss him."

Elizabeth squeezed her sister up against her, gently rubbing her hair. "I am glad he was kind to you, Mary." And it was true. She was glad that he had been able to give Mary—the Bennet daughter who had so often been ignored—some measure of contentment. Elizabeth had truly held nothing against him except for his fawning nature and utter lack of anything resembling intelligence. Even when he had been petty toward her, she had often privately simply turned it to a source of amusement. Even though the world might perhaps be a little more intelligent with his passing—which was a terrible thought for her to consider when her grieving sister was in her arms—she wished he were still alive, for Mary's sake.

They sat like that in silence for a long time. When the maid knocked, Elizabeth sent her away. She wanted her sister to have the chance to compose herself a little before she faced anyone.

When they finally left the room, Mary's eyes were dry, but there was an expression of deep sorrow on her face that struck Elizabeth to the bone.

* * *

Two days later, Mr. Collins's body was returned to Hunsford. He was buried almost immediately.

It was considered unseemly for women to attend funerals, so Elizabeth remained at home with her sister, who remained very quiet. Mary ate at Elizabeth's prompting—after all, Elizabeth told her, the baby would need nourishment—and they talked of nothing of consequence. Both women wore clothes of mourning, but Elizabeth was in truth not mourning the departed but the happiness her sister had seemed to lose.

Later, Elizabeth heard that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Baker attended the funeral. Though she dared not share her thoughts with Mary, the news almost made her smile. Mr. Collins would have been very happy indeed to learn that the nephew of his esteemed patroness had been at his funeral.

The day outside was sunny and warm.


	54. Chapter LIV

**Previously:** Elizabeth receives a letter from her father that Mr. Collins has died, and she tries to comfort Mary.

* * *

**Chapter LIV**

The very day after the funeral of the late parson of Hunsford, Mr. Darcy descended the stairs of Rosings and entered the dining room, early as was his wont. The previous day had been trying. Even though he had not known—or liked—the parson to any great degree, the ceremony had brought back memories of the last funeral he had attended: the funeral of his own father. He was, therefore, looking forward to a morning ride about the estate, hoping the exertion would rid his mind of the memories and, perhaps, the thoughts of young ladies which had been dancing in his head the past several months.

It was with great surprise that he was confronted by the person of his Aunt Catherine when he entered into the breakfast room. As far back as he could recall, his aunt _never_ awoke this early—she generally preferred to sleep later and would often take her breakfast in her room. Her daughter was even later to rise than she.

"Good morning, nephew," stated she.

"Aunt Catherine," said Darcy with a bow. "This is an unexpected surprise."

She waved him off impatiently. "I can hardly stay abed when there is so much to do this morning, nephew. I have several young men coming to meet me this day, and I must be ready to receive them."

Eyebrow raised, Darcy regarded his aunt, who was sipping her tea with a pensive look on his face. _This_ was not the aunt to whom he was accustomed. "Young men? For what purpose will these gentlemen be calling on you today?"

"Why, for the purpose of filling Hunsford parsonage with a new rector," exclaimed Lady Catherine, her expression suggesting she thought him witless.

"That is rather... precipitous, Aunt Catherine. Mr. Collins has been in his grave less than a full day, after all."

"And the Lord waits for no man, Darcy. You should know this. I refuse to be anything less than fully attentive to all concerns within the sphere of my influence and shall seek a parson as soon as may be. I dispatched a note to the seminary as soon as word of Mr. Collins' death arrived and instructed them to send three likely candidates to visit me, to my specifications, of course. I shall not endure a pastor who cannot run the parish in the manner in which I am accustomed—I have very exacting standards, you know."

It was all Darcy could do not to snort at her self-important pronouncement. He knew _exactly _the type of man which his aunt would wish to fill the vacant parsonage, and it was _not_ the sort of man Darcy would ever choose to employ. Should he make himself available to greet the candidates—which he was less than inclined to do—Darcy was certain the men would be almost indistinguishable from the recently departed Mr. Collins.

"Your dedication to your duty is admirable, aunt," said Darcy wryly. His aunt, of course, missed the slightly sardonic edge to his voice and inclined her head, no doubt thinking it was only her due.

"Very well then, nephew. I shall be off at once."

Darcy blinked. "You are leaving now?"

"But of course. Since I must install a parson as soon as may be, I must have a parsonage available for him to occupy. And since Mr. Collins's wife and her sister are still in residence, they must be told that I require them to leave. I shall not leave that in the hands of a servant—that course of action would be most improper, indeed."

Something was not right about his aunt's declaration. He knew the parsonage would be required for its next occupant, but to force a grieving widow out of her home the day after her husband had been interred was not only cruel, but unchristian as well. Lady Catherine was not the most tactful person—not any more than a stampeding bull—and Darcy was wary of her giving offense. He decided at that moment he had best accompany her.

He stated his intentions to his aunt, to which she responded that he need not trouble himself. Darcy, though, was firm, and a few moments later, they were ensconced in the carriage for the short ride to Hunsford.

They arrived at the parsonage, Darcy noting the mourning wreath which adorned the door. Lady Catherine took no notice and rang the doorbell. Once the maid had opened the door, Lady Catherine entered immediately, demanding to see the mistress. The maid led them to a sitting room and asked them to wait while Mrs. Collins was summoned. Lady Catherine did so with obvious ill-temper, causing Darcy to cringe at his aunt's overt display of poor manners.

At length, the door opened, and in stepped Miss Bennet. She was wearing a pale gray dress in respect for her brother-in-law's passing, and she was pale and appeared fatigued, no doubt from the events of the week and the fact that she was likely alternating between running the household in her sister's stead and watching over her sister—during the night, too, unless he missed his guess. Still, she appeared to no less advantage in her present state, and indeed, he felt more disposed toward her than ever before with this example of her caring, generous, and capable nature. And then there were those eyes which peered out at them from under her long, lustrous eyelashes...

"How do you do, Miss Bennet?" asked Darcy, attempting to mask the scrutiny of which he was almost certain she had been aware.

"I am well, sir, I thank you," was her tired reply.

"And Mrs. Collins?"

"Well enough, given the circumstances." Miss Bennet's eyes shrouded over in pain. "She is with child, and I afraid she is having a most difficult time with it. I fear for her if this should continue."

"I did not know she was with child," commented Darcy in surprise. Her husband had died while she was carrying his child? The strain must have been difficult indeed.

"That is most unfortunate, Miss Bennet," interrupted Lady Catherine in her customary superior tone. "You must tell your sister that she must rest and not overexert herself. Only thus can she ensure that the child remains hale and that she does not endanger herself."

Though she checked her reaction, Darcy could see the way Miss Bennet repressed the rolling of her eyes. Indeed, though he was obviously not a doctor or a man whose wife had gone through the rigors of carrying and then delivering a child, even Darcy was aware of the prevailing wisdom which suggested that a woman should remain as active as she was physically able right up to the time of delivery.

"I shall be certain to impart your... instructions to my sister, Lady Catherine," was Miss Bennet's diplomatic response. "Now, if you will excuse me, I really must check on her," continued the young woman while rising to her feet. "I thank you on behalf of Mrs. Collins for your kindness in calling upon us in our time of need."

"Miss Bennet," said Lady Catherine in a more than usually insolent and condescending tone, "you have misapprehended my purpose for calling here this day. I do sympathise with Mrs. Collins for the death of her husband, but Hunsford now no longer has a rector. I mean to rectify that immediately. Thus, I require you and your sister to vacate Hunsford immediately—by Friday at the latest."

Darcy winced at the way his aunt, lacking in anything even remotely resembling tact, presented her demand. Miss Bennet's nostrils flared in sudden anger, and she fixed Lady Catherine with a baleful glare.

"You would push a woman who has just lost her husband from her home less than a day after he was buried? Where is your compassion, Madam? I do not believe I have ever witnessed such a display of utter disregard for the feelings of others!"

Lady Catherine had never been spoken to in such a manner, and her countenance showed it. She huffed up indignantly and cried in response:

"I have never been accustomed to such language, Miss Bennet! I am truly sorry for your sister's loss, but I must fill Hunsford, and that necessitates your sister's removal from this house!"

"Lady Catherine, I am afraid I must agree with Miss Bennet," interjected Darcy. "Surely something can be worked out where they may stay a little longer while still allowing you to have your new rector."

"What can you be suggesting, Darcy?" demanded Lady Catherine. "The new parson cannot stay in Hunsford _with_ the two ladies. You can never be too attentive to these sort of things, after all—they could be considered compromised if they were to do such a thing."

"Surely we can come up with another solution. Perhaps the parson can stay with one of the families in the neighborhood, or perhaps you can allow him to use a room in Rosings until the ladies can depart."

Lady Catherine appeared aghast at such a suggestion. "Stay at Rosings?" demanded she. "Surely you cannot mean that, Darcy. I mean, a rector staying at my estate! I should think not!

"No, Mrs. Collins and her sister must simply move out—it is not as though they do not have another home to which they can go. I am certain their father will be pleased to take them in again."

Though Miss Bennet appeared as though she wished to dispute Lady Catherine's assertions, she sighed and appeared to deflate slightly. "Perchance we could travel to London and stay with our aunt and uncle there."

"There," cried Lady Catherine, a triumphant smirk on her face. "You see, Darcy? That is an excellent plan. In fact, to speed your journey and make it more comfortable for Mrs. Collins, I shall send you on your way in one of my carriages."

"You are very kind, aunt," murmured Darcy.

But Miss Bennet was clearly fretting over the developments. "I thank you, Lady Catherine, but even with a comfortable carriage, I worry for my sister. She has had a very difficult pregnancy thus far and has been very ill, especially since word of her husband's death arrived. She may now be carrying the heir of Longbourn, and I fear for the child's health if we should be required to journey to London at this time."

After the event, Darcy was never certain what possessed him to respond in the way he did. While Lady Catherine blathered on about how the springs in her carriages were of the highest quality and how the ride would be so comfortable that they should hardly know they were in a carriage, all Darcy could think about was Miss Bennet's expression of concern for her sister, and the wonderful brown eyes which peered at him—eyes which had always entranced him. Aware that he would very much like to come to know her better—and acutely aware like he had never been before of the untruth of the words which she had overheard at Longbourn—Darcy formed a resolve in an instant and acted upon it before he had time to consider it carefully.

"In that case, perhaps you and your sister should stay at Rosings until she is able to withstand the rigors of the journey."

Miss Bennet glanced up at him with surprise, and a grateful expression came over her face. Lady Catherine, however, was not amused.

"Say at Rosings?" exclaimed she. "However can you suggest such nonsense, Darcy? I shall not have the wife of my former parson staying with me at my estate house!"

"That wife is also the daughter of a gentleman, Lady Catherine. And as you have so astutely pointed out, she is no longer a pastor's wife."

Lady Catherine sputtered in indignation. "Regardless, they... It is not proper..."

"Darcy," stated she finally, gaining control of her emotions, "this is not seemly. You cannot possibly insist upon such an arrangement. She shall be very well making the journey back to London to her uncle's house."

"On the contrary, Lady Catherine, it is well known that even a journey of short duration can cause a miscarriage for a woman who is already experiencing problems. I must insist upon this, aunt—we cannot in good conscience subject her to a journey now of all times."

Lady Catherine's eyes narrowed, and she was silent for a moment. Though Darcy had rarely insisted upon anything in the past, Lady Catherine was aware of the assistance he provided and the influence he wielded. She appeared as if she were trying to swallow her walking stick, but she nodded jerkily before agreeing:

"Very well, then. They may stay at Rosings. But I shall have my own physician examine Mrs. Collins, and as soon as he deems her fit, she shall return to her uncle's house in London."

"I believe that would be acceptable. Do you not agree, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth immediately agreed and thanked Lady Catherine for her condescension, but her face ran through a gamut of emotions, and Darcy had the impression that had she any other recourse, she would not have accepted the invitation.

They spoke for several moments longer, in which they determined that the sisters would decamp to Rosings on Friday, after which Darcy departed with his aunt, happy he would be afforded a little more time in Elizabeth's company.

When they had entered the carriage, Lady Catherine turned to Darcy and spoke:

"I am surprised at you, Darcy," said she. "I had not thought you the champion for such ladies who are beneath you in consequence and in the eyes of the world. What made you take up their cause in such a manner?"

The real thrust of her question was, of course, to determine whether he had insisted upon their removal to Rosings for reasons of compassion, or whether she needed to be concerned over her nephew's feelings for a certain unmarried young woman who currently resided at the parsonage. Apparently, his aunt had not forgotten about the singing incident at Rosings, though she had accepted his denials at the time.

"It is only proper, aunt," responded he, careful to appear nonchalant. "Surely you would not wish for your parson's wife to miscarry when she could have remained safe in Rosings. It is the Christian thing to do."

Her expression softened slightly, and after peering at him for a moment more, she looked out the window. "Yes, I suppose you are correct. Very clever to have thought of it, I must say. When we arrive back at Rosings, I shall have rooms prepared for them in the servants' quarters, where they may stay out of the way of the operation of the rest of the house."

Scowling, Darcy glared at his aunt, wondering if she had always been this ungracious. "Lady Catherine, you cannot possibly be considering such ignominy for our guests."

"Why should I not?" queried she. "With their station in life, they cannot expect anything better. They should be grateful to have a roof over their heads at all—I am perfectly within my right to remove them and order their belongings discarded by the side of the road if I so chose. Of course, I, who have always been celebrated for my Christian generosity, would never perpetrate such shame upon anyone. But they cannot expect my best rooms—the servants' quarters shall do very well for them indeed."

"It is an insult, Lady Catherine," growled Darcy. "If you mean to put them up in such shameful lodgings, then you had almost better send them packing to London."

"Why, Darcy?" an exasperated Lady Catherine demanded. "What has you suddenly taking up their support and succor? What are they to you?"

"They are acquaintances of many months," stated Darcy. "Beyond that, they are gently born ladies, and as such, they cannot be expected to stay in such accommodations. I am quite determined, aunt. Please do not tempt my displeasure."

Lady Catherine rolled her eyes. "Fine, then. They shall stay in the guest wing, but under no circumstances shall they be allowed to stay in the family wing."

"That would be appropriate, aunt," agreed Darcy. "They are _not_ family after all."

Lady Catherine huffed once more and then fell silent, clearly ignoring her nephew for the rest of the short journey. Darcy found that he could bear the silence very well indeed—it was not often that he had imposed his will upon his stubborn aunt, but the insult she was contemplating was not to be borne.

Besides, with Wickham likely still lurking around, Darcy felt much better that he would have Miss Bennet close at hand. Now, if he could only determine his own feelings for her...


	55. Chapter LV

**Previously:** Due to Darcy's intervention, Lady Catherine agrees to let Elizabeth and the pregnant Mary stay at Rosings.

* * *

**Chapter LV**

After the Bennet sisters moved into Rosings, it took a few days for the routine in the house to settle down. As Lady Catherine had insisted, the sisters were installed in the guest wing—in rooms next to each other—and then largely left alone. Or at least they were by the women of the house. Darcy attempted to be as civil and attentive as possible, but as he did not wish to incite Lady Catherine's resentment, he was forced to keep his attentions sparing.

Though Elizabeth often descended for dinner with the family, Mary rarely did so. This seemed to suit Lady Catherine and her daughter very well indeed, as it was clear Lady Catherine considered the sisters interlopers, while Anne, though she was not overly unfriendly, was certainly not exactly welcoming.

Yet, much to Lady Catherine's chagrin, the doctor had pronounced Mary unfit to travel at this time, and he strictly forbade her from traveling to London. As a result, the Lady was forced to keep to her pledge to keep the ladies at Rosings until such time as Mary was able to withstand the journey. Given the difficulty Mary was experiencing, Darcy expected that determination to be a long time coming.

Darcy quickly noticed that Miss Bennet spent a lot of time with her sister, ensuring she was comfortable or comforting her when grief appeared to be pressing down too heavily. The effort involved in this—not to mention the sorrow caused by her brother-in-law's recent death—was taxing on Miss Bennet's spirits, and Darcy resolved at last that he would try to bring her a little bit of happiness.

Remembering how she had mentioned in Hertfordshire that she liked horses, Darcy persuaded her to allow him to teach her to ride. It was difficult, indeed, to convince her that she could spare a few moments away from her sister. She appeared to be of the opinion that no one could possibly serve in such a matter as well as she, and she seemed determined that she would not allow Mary out of her sight. However, Darcy was persistent, and after he had enlisted her sister's assistance—Mary being concerned for Elizabeth and her lack of exercise and noting that her sister had rarely gone so long without her outings in the past—he was finally able to induce her to accompany him.

On the day of their outing, they stood in front of two saddled horses, one of which was black and the other of which was white. The black steed was shifting in place, snorting a little and scraping a hoof across the ground, but the white one was examining them calmly and curiously.

"You do not have to do this, Mr. Darcy," protested Miss Bennet for what might very well have been the tenth time. "I have ridden horses before."

"You must pardon me, madam, but the old nags used as plow horses on your father's farm are very different from the kind of horses kept in the stables belonging to me and to my aunt. You must learn to ride a proper horse."

Her eyes flashed in annoyance, and he began to regret having spoken as he did. He was elevating himself and his aunt while debasing her own connections. He opened his mouth, chagrined. "Miss Bennet—"

"Very well, Mr. Darcy," interrupted she, sounding none-too-happy. "I shall ride one of your aunt's horses. I do hope I shall not be riding the black one. He seems a bit too unhappy for a _beginner_ such as myself to ride. Tell me—what are their names?"

His brow furrowed slightly, Darcy turned his head to look at the horses. "You shall ride the white one. His name is 'Glittering Stream.' My mount is called 'Silver Lining.'"

Miss Bennet turned to him with a small frown. "But he is not silver. Not to mention that those are perhaps the most ridiculous names I have ever heard given a horse. Surely you did not come up with them, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy smiled and said softly: "Appearances can be deceiving, Miss Bennet." He reached out to stroke Glittering Stream's nose. "And yes, your conjecture is correct—these horses are not mine, nor would I ever name a horse in such a manner. They are from Lady Catherine's stables."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes but said nothing, prompting Darcy's responding grin. Nothing further was said, and a few minutes later, they were mounted and riding out in the field. Miss Bennet proved to be a quick study, and she handled Glittering Stream with grace. Laughing as she pushed her horse into a trot, she threw a warm look back at Darcy.

"You were right, Mr. Darcy," cried out she. "This is nothing like riding my father's horses!"

Had Darcy been walking, he might have faltered at the sight of that smile. But he was being carried forward by a horse who had no care for its rider's emotional state, and so he continued on with no visible signs of being affected by the fiery young woman riding ahead of him. Yet he was affected.

There was something in her smile and the glitter of her eyes that did _something _to Darcy. It was as if a happy expression on her face had the force to twist his insides, steal his breath, and stop his heart. Her form was pleasing to the eye—it had certainly grown on him—yet it was seeing her happy, even if only for a moment, that truly had an effect on Darcy.

Trying to shake himself from his observation of her, Darcy kicked his own horse forward and pulled up alongside Miss Bennet.

"I am glad it pleases you," offered he, not certain what else to say.

But she did not seem to notice his awkwardness. Instead, she spread her arms out alongside her like wings and laughed as her horse carried her forward.

"Miss Bennet!" cried Darcy in alarm. "Please!" A strange fear was gripping his heart. Riding a horse at a trot on a side-saddle was dangerous enough when a horsewoman was skilled—to do something that might cause an offset of balance was even more so.

She brought her arms back down and threw a look at him which he could not read. "I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I did not intend to upset you."

"Perhaps we should go at a walk," suggested he tightly, and she did not argue with him.

The day was sunny enough that the incident did not keep Miss Bennet quiet for long. Soon, they were talking pleasantly, and Darcy was able to distance himself from his earlier fright. As always, she made for a lively conversation partner, and Darcy was hard-pressed to keep up with her wit.

But they had not been riding for too long before they saw someone at a distance. When taking a closer look, they learned that the figure was Elia Baker. They approached her on horseback—Darcy with some regret—and she smiled warmly at them.

"It was such a glorious day," said she after greetings were exchanged, "that I wished to take a walk. I can see both of you were unable to resist the day's call either."

"I thought you were not fond of walks," ventured Miss Bennet.

Miss Baker tilted her head. "Not even I can resist nature all of the time. If I should tumble, I dare say there will always be someone around to assist me." She gave Darcy a bright smile.

Darcy looked briefly at Miss Bennet before returning his eyes to Miss Baker. "Would you like to ride with us?" They would have to return to the stable to fetch her a horse, but Darcy felt he needed to offer it.

"Oh, no," said she with a dismissive laugh. "I do not ride. Horses are dangerous beasts. They can crush your feet! And besides, I should not like to lose my bonnet in the wind." Her eyes met with Darcy's, and she gave him an almost secretive smile coupled with a very coquettish look. "Perhaps, Mr. Darcy, you should like to accompany _me_ instead."

Darcy did not even pause to consider her idea, and it was not even her rudeness in suggesting he throw his current companion over for her company which caused him to be so decisive. He was enjoying himself far too much with Elizabeth to leave her now under any circumstances. "I am afraid I cannot do that, Miss Baker. I am giving Miss Bennet riding lessons, and I do not intend to leave off it now. Perhaps we may walk another time."

"Perhaps," echoed Miss Baker.

They exchanged goodbyes, and Darcy and Miss Bennet brought their horses back into a walk. Darcy glanced back at Miss Baker and noticed that although she had plastered a congenial smile upon her face, she seemed somewhat put out that he would not accompany her. Perhaps he should have felt guilty at having displeased her, but he knew it was a rift he could repair later, if indeed a rift had been created.

As Silver Lining carried him forward, Darcy could not help but compare Miss Baker and Miss Bennet is his mind. In intelligence and appearance, the two ladies could hardly be more dissimilar. Miss Bennet was, beyond a doubt, the superior in intellect. And as for appearance, they were both attractive, yet Miss Baker was a lighter beauty, and Miss Bennet was a darker beauty. A few months earlier, he would undoubtedly have considered Miss Baker the superior of the two in beauty, but now he was not so sure—both ladies appeared pleasing in face and form.

Was it possible for him to be—dare he think it?—attracted to such differing women? Considering the idea troubled him.

It did not help his confusion to recall that he had been attracted to darker coloring in the past.


	56. Chapter LVI

**Previously: **Darcy and Elizabeth go riding. They meet Elia along the way, but she refuses to ride with them.

* * *

**Chapter LVI**

The day was beautiful, a wonderful blend of bright, glorious sunlight; soft, gentle breezes; and the blooming of flowers and budding trees, all of which spoke to the nature of the season which was now taking hold of the land. Here and there across the landscape, the greenery of early spring was returning, pushing past the recent winter season, and the spring planting of the farmers of the estate was beginning in earnest. The view from the second floor of the manor—which stood upon a small rise itself—was magnificent, allowing almost the whole of the estate to be seen. However, though the view was inspiring, Fitzwilliam Darcy saw none of it. His concentration was centered a little closer to home.

If he were to be honest with himself, he felt almost like an intruder—or a voyeur—but it was something which could not be helped. Despite his insistence to pay her no more mind than any other acquaintance, he found himself caught, his mind moving to consider her without any conscious decision to do so. The object of his thoughts was, of course, Elizabeth Bennet.

He stood at the window of his room, which faced back toward Lady Catherine's formal gardens, watching, enchanted, as Miss Bennet walked through the garden. As she walked, her fingers delicately traced a newly sprouting flower, or her hand trailed through the water fountain, seemingly without a care in the world. Though he could not see her expression—her bonnet hid all attempts to do so—Darcy could almost see the smile upon her face—the true enjoyment and light which would enter it when engaged in a pastime which she truly loved. She still spent much of her time caring for her sister, but as Mary had seemed to have improved somewhat, Elizabeth could be found in her favorite pursuits more often than she had the first few days of their stay. It was then, when her cares were forgotten for a moment and she was at her ease, that her true beauty could be seen. The beauty he had been so entranced with on the day of their outing on horseback...

Looking down at the paper held in his hand, Darcy consciously pushed thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet to the back of his mind to consider the words written upon it. Or at least as much of the words as he could make out through the blots.

Chuckling to himself, Darcy lifted the letter once more. Bingley's penmanship was not precisely a strength, a thought which was charitable to say the least. More than one of Bingley's friends at Cambridge—Darcy among them—had been known to comment that deciphering Bingley's hieroglyphics should be a required course for anyone with whom he was acquainted. And though Darcy had known and corresponded with him for several years, he still felt it a trial to try to make out the man's letters.

In essence, Bingley rambled on for several paragraphs about how well his courtship of Jane Bennet was proceeding, how much of an angel she was, how much he was enjoying himself, and how he anticipated the day in which he would finally propose and make her his. He then went on to ask after Darcy, specifically how Darcy's plans were proceeding and how close he was to finally making the choice which he had been delaying for some time, closing with a veiled offer to assist his friend whenever required, citing the help and care Darcy had often given to him during the course of their friendship.

Now, Darcy knew his friend quite well indeed. Bingley had many fine qualities which made him the perfect friend for Darcy. He was perfectly at ease in most social situations, whereas Darcy often struggled; he was of a happy, carefree disposition, while Darcy was serious and sober; and while Darcy was the one who had much experience in running an estate and dealing with his business affairs, not to mention a head for the things required for one of his station, Bingley was often in desperate need of someone to assist him and guide him through the shark-infested waters of the ton. They were a very compatible pair, each one's strengths balancing and improving the other's weaknesses.

But whatever Bingley was, subtle he was not. He had known—for Darcy often confided in him—of Darcy's state of mind when he had left for Kent. He had been aware of Darcy's thoughts toward matrimony—that though the thought of fulfilling his duty and marrying Anne was a strong inducement, Darcy had been considering proposing to Elia, as his feelings for the young heiress were much more in line with that he should feel for a woman he was considering making his wife. The idea of marrying Anne was the product of his aunt's wishes—not his own. And he was not even certain exactly of what Anne's feelings actually consisted, nor was her certain that his mother had actually wished for this connection for him. There was nothing in her will to suggest such a thing, after all, and she had never mentioned it to him during the course of his life.

But now his sudden and burgeoning feelings for Miss Bennet—though, to be honest, those feelings were not sudden at all—had become a major fly in the ointment. In short, he was now completely at a loss of what he should do.

Bingley's letter had indeed come at a most opportune time—Darcy desperately needed his friend's advice and guidance if he was to have any hope of resolving this muddled situation.

Of the three women in question, Darcy could only think with some measure of exasperation. Marriage should be simple, he thought—he merely needed to find a woman who was compatible, who possessed the required accomplishments to run his home, who owned a significant dowry, and who came with the necessary connections to further his place in society. It was, unfortunately, not that simple.

Of the three, Anne was the one who was the easiest to judge in light of those considerations. She had virtually no accomplishments; her connections would not help him, as they were the same as his own; and she was not—he suspected—compatible with him. The last was perhaps the most important, as he had always desired a lively woman who would induce him to be happier himself. Anne was far too much like him. The only thing which Anne brought to the table was her dowry, which, of course, consisted of Rosings itself. If Darcy's only thought was to increase his wealth and consequence, then Anne would be the obvious choice. With her, he would become one of the five richest men in the kingdom, with all of his other holdings considered. It did not help that Lady Catherine, on this visit, had been especially insistent that he finally fulfill his duty and propose to Anne—indeed, the lady's hints could only be called hints to the most obtuse.

Elia, by contrast, was everything which Anne was not. She was bright and sunny, congenial and playful. In that regard, she was almost his perfect match. Her less than stellar intelligence was troubling, perhaps, but that could be remedied by a patient husband who was willing to share his experience and knowledge of the world. Of the other considerations, he was certain she was acceptable, as her dowry, while perhaps not the richest he had ever seen, was still significant, and her connections impeccable. When one considered Elia's overall merits, she seemed like the easy choice.

And finally, he considered the dark horse—Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was perhaps the most difficult to position in the matrix he had built to determine the suitability of all of his potential future wives. She had no dowry to speak of and no connections, both of which were of major consideration to a man of his station. However, Elizabeth, he suspected, was actually the one with whom he was best suited. She was intelligent and passionate, and Darcy knew that if he married her, then he would always have the closest of relationships with her and would ever have a companion with whom to live his life. Elizabeth would never be a sowpiece to adorn his arm in society. And he knew that she—with her compassion, fiery determination, and indomitable will—would be more of a partner in running his holdings than merely a woman to run his home.

And a part of him—subconscious, to be certain, but rapidly gaining form—told him that as far as pure feelings were concerned, Miss Bennet was rapidly outdistancing the other two woman for the foremost place in his heart. Was that not the most important consideration?

Thus, his quandary, which he hoped advice from Bingley would help resolve. It would be good, indeed, to have his friend available to help. An invitation to attend them at Rosings would be just the thing. Lady Catherine would perhaps bemoan his attention to "those of the lower classes," but Darcy knew she would not gainsay him—his attention to Rosings and the manner in which the estate would decline if he were to withhold his services would be enough to ensure her cooperation. Besides, Darcy was truly missing his friend.

The matter decided, he sat down at his desk—after one last look at the woman walking in the gardens below—and composed a letter to Bingley, inviting him to Rosings at any time convenient.


	57. Chapter LVII

**Previously:** Darcy, wanting advice, invites Bingley to Rosings.

* * *

**Chapter LVII**

Had Elizabeth only Mary to worry about during her stay at Rosings, then that alone would have been enough to trouble her. Unfortunately, Elizabeth found herself facing much more than that.

Riding horses with Mr. Darcy had been surprisingly pleasant—they had indulged in the pastime several more times after the first; in fact, it seemed to Elizabeth as though it was quickly becoming a refuge from the atmosphere in the house for both. The more permanent residents of Rosings were not disposed to treat her with any sort of kindness, and she felt it keenly.

Anne de Bourgh, for instance, was acting in a manner that could only be termed "rude." Though Elizabeth was not able to pin it down to anything specific, she found that the young lady rarely had much to say to her, and when she did, her words were usually short and sometimes condescending. She clearly, however, seemed to hold something against Elizabeth, as the friendlier relations they seemed to have shared in the past had evaporated, and her enmity was contributing to the strained atmosphere at Rosings.

Lady Catherine was no better—and was, in many ways, worse. She appeared to consider Mary and Elizabeth to be interlopers in her home, and she was steadily becoming even more overbearing than usual, though Elizabeth would not have thought it possible. Since Mary frequently stayed in her room—partially to avoid the tense environment and partially because of the difficulties her unborn child was causing her—Elizabeth often had to face the brunt of Lady Catherine's wrath alone. Mr. Darcy did not seem inclined to rein in his aunt's rudeness—though he did, she noticed, often appear to be ashamed of his aunt's ill breeding—and Elizabeth found that her ladyship was grating away the last of Elizabeth's nerves.

One day, when Lady Catherine's voice was particularly shrill and Elizabeth's mood particularly dark, Anne de Bourgh appeared to have gone missing. Elizabeth had spoken briefly with Miss de Bourgh in the drawing-room earlier in the day. Their conversation, though stilted, was soon interrupted by Lady Catherine, and somehow, Miss de Bourgh managed to extricate herself from the room without either Lady Catherine or Elizabeth noticing. When the former finally _did_ realize the absence of her daughter, she began harping on Elizabeth: "Miss Bennet, where is Anne? You must have seen where she went! Tell me where she is at once! I have searched for her, and she is not to be found anywhere. Have you hidden her away from me, Miss Bennet?"

"I am not your daughter's keeper, Lady Catherine," said Elizabeth softly, fighting to keep her annoyance from showing in either her countenance or voice. The struggle was an epic one, and Elizabeth feared she might soon fail.

"You must have seen where she went, Miss Bennet," persisted Lady Catherine. "Are you hiding her from me? Did you encourage her to go outside before I came into the room? She knows she should not do something so foolish as that. The weather is not good for her health—she needs to stay inside and not exert herself. Miss Bennet, you should not have told her to go—"

"Lady Catherine," gritted Elizabeth, "as I have stated before, I _am not_ your daughter's keeper—she is an adult, and as such, she does not require me to mind her, if indeed I was inclined to do so. I do not know where your daughter is. I have been in the room here with you for the last hour."

But Lady Catherine persisted in blaming Elizabeth, who at last—fuming about the older woman's behavior—frigidly took her leave to escape to the outside. A few more minutes with Lady Catherine might have been enough to unleash Elizabeth's temper. As satisfying as it would have been to lash out at her ladyship, Elizabeth knew she was dependent on the woman's begrudging hospitality until Mary was fit to travel. But that did not mean she had to feel kindly toward her—Christian behavior, after all, was not truly worthy of thankfulness when it was forced, and Elizabeth suspected that though Lady Catherine would have preferred to have the sisters gone from her house, her hand was stayed for some reason. She almost suspected Mr. Darcy's involvement in the mystery, though she knew he could have no reason to care for the welfare of two young women who were, after all, completely unconnected with him.

She was wrapped up in such thoughts when she began to head toward the exit of the house, and as she passed outside, she came across Anne de Bourgh.

"Miss Bennet," said Miss de Bourgh tightly, her face flushed.

Elizabeth, in as ill of a temper as she was, did not bother making any queries of the other woman. Instead, she merely told her: "Your mother is looking for you, Miss de Bourgh." And then, barely waiting to hear the response to her statement, Elizabeth continued forward.

She planned to walk to clear her head, feeling the brilliance of nature would be enough to bring her to more a pleasant state, but unfortunately, she was not destined to a solitary enjoyment of bright skies and verdant plants, for she had not gone far from the house at all when she came across Mr. Wickham.

She was startled to see him, to say the least. Not only had she not expected to come across another person on her walk, but she had also thought Mr. Wickham would have left Kent by this time. Why was he still lingering in the region? What purpose did he have for doing so? Surely the enmity shown to him by Mr. Darcy would have sent lesser men scurrying from the county with their tails between their legs—though, to be truthful, she did not think there were _any_ such curs in existence who were lower than Mr. Wickham.

These thoughts ran swiftly through her head. In desperation to get away, she considered feigning that she had not seen him, but they were too close to each other when she noticed him, and she knew she could not leave abruptly, tempting though it was. Despite her bad mood, she would attempt to hold on to the vestiges of propriety.

Instead, the two walked toward each other, Mr. Wickham bearing a smile much like a pleased cat might wear upon spying a crippled mouse. Elizabeth's own expression was far darker.

"Miss Bennet," greeted he easily, "how do you do on this fine day?"

"I am well, Mr. Wickham, thank you."

His grin grew and became almost a leer. "Might I walk with you, Miss Bennet? I could not ask for a better companion."

She could not help but feel uneasy. Something about his expression made her feel discomfited, and she knew for certain that she did _not_ want to walk with him. If he was trying to resume where he had left off long ago in Hertfordshire, then he was going to be severely disappointed. Her history with the man notwithstanding, she liked to think that even if she had never met Mr. Wickham, she would have been able to detect his rank insincerity and flattering ways without difficulty.

"Mr. Wickham, I must confess I had hoped to walk alone and clear my head."

"Come, Miss Bennet," said he, his voice filled with that charm which now grated on her nerves, "could you not use a companion? Such sights as this are better appreciated with another at your side."

She let out a sigh. She was unsure what to do to dissuade him. Fortunately, she was saved from having to extricate herself from the miserable situation by the sound of clopping hooves.

Turning, she saw Mr. Darcy trotting toward her on Silver Lining. He appeared to go out riding a lot of late—with or without her—so she was not utterly surprised to see him, but she _was _surprised at how grateful she felt for his presence. The dark look on his face, however, was anything but heartening.

Silver Lining pulled up in front of Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham, and after the great black horse stopped, Mr. Darcy dismounted and took the reins in hand.

A period of intense staring then commenced between the two men. Whereas Mr. Darcy's gaze was filled with extreme displeasure, Mr. Wickham's appeared to be filled with something more akin to hatred.

Finally, Mr. Darcy said: "Wickham."

Mr. Wickham, his countenance darkening, returned: "Darcy."

Mr. Darcy did turn to give Elizabeth a slight greeting—almost as a sort of afterthought—before bringing his dark stare back to focus on Mr. Wickham. "What are you doing here?" asked he stiffly.

Mr. Wickham narrowed his eyes. "I was merely engaging in a pleasant walk with Miss Bennet."

"I do not believe you have any business being on or near my aunt's property, Wickham, and I suggest you leave." Mr. Darcy's voice was cold as iron.

Mr. Wickham's gaze flicked away from Mr. Darcy's—almost in fear, Elizabeth thought—and he turned slightly. "Miss Bennet, I believe I should go. Unlike certain persons, I have no wish to cause a scene." Then, with a glare at Mr. Darcy, Mr. Wickham walked away with clenched fists and a stiff back.

When the other man was finally disappearing from sight, Mr. Darcy darkly told Elizabeth: "You should not be seen walking with him."

Elizabeth sharply turned her head to face Mr. Darcy, offended. Lady Catherine was already making every attempt to control Elizabeth's movements and opinions, and now the woman's nephew was trying to do the same! It was too much to be borne! She had had enough.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy," said she in a voice filled with barely restrained fury, "but I shall walk with anyone I please to."

Mr. Darcy appeared surprised that she should not have simply accepted his statement. "Mr. Wickham is not the sort of man with whom you should associate, Miss B—"

"Mr. Darcy," interrupted she, "I shall not allow any man to dictate my life in such a matter as this. I am fully capable of choosing whom I wish to have as a walking partner, and I do not take kindly to such officiousness as you are now displaying! I will decide what society I shall keep and what society I shall shun." Inhaling deeply, she turned away from him. "Now, if you will please excuse me, I wish to resume the walk which I had started!"

Fuming, she stalked away from him, not even looking back to see how he had reacted to her outburst. She was too wrapped up in her anger to care.

She had believed—despite herself—that perhaps he was a pleasant person to be around; they had spent many hours in each other's company conversing in London, after all. Since his arrival in Kent—and her own arrival to Rosings—the amount of time she spent with him had increased accordingly. Frequently, they came across each other in Rosings' library, where Elizabeth went to escape from Lady Catherine, who cared little for reading. Often, Elizabeth would stay there for quite some time. When Mr. Darcy entered to replace or take a book, she and he would often share their love of poetry and prose with one another. It had led her to soften toward him—but now she was reminded of what sorts of things had prompted her sometime dislike of the man. His pride made him believe his way and his opinions best, but she refused to stand idly by and allow him to limit her autonomy. He was, indeed, a maddening subject to study—sometimes, he was pleasant and easy to speak with, and others, he was officious and difficult.

Her thoughts moved to Mr. Bingley and Jane, and she recalled how the former had told her that one of his friends had pushed him into abandoning her dear sister. There was no question in her mind that Mr. Darcy was that person, and thinking of the almost ruinous extent of his meddling made her even more furious. First, he had ruined her sister's happiness, and now, he was trying to control Elizabeth's life! She refused to sit idly by and allow him to do as he pleased.

She could hardly wait for Mary's child to be born. Then, they could finally return to Hertfordshire, and she could put this entire mess behind her. She could act as loving aunt and cheerfully forget about all the men who had brought her such misery—and about Lady Catherine, who Elizabeth was certain would always be frustrating to no end!


	58. Chapter LVIII

**A/N:** Thanks for reading and reviewing. In the first chapter summary, we mentioned a thanks to Trollope's _Barchester Towers_ for inspiration for a scene. That scene occurs in this chapter.

**Previously:** Elizabeth meets Wickham walking. Wickham is chased away by Darcy, who then has an argument with Elizabeth.

* * *

**Chapter LVIII**

The days following her meeting with Mr. Wickham and subsequent confrontation with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth kept her distance from the insufferable man. This seemed to suit Mr. Darcy well indeed, as he was nothing more than frostily polite to her in return. Neither ever went beyond what was acceptable and proper, but the distance between them was wider than it had been in the past several months. Of course, this did not escape Lady Catherine's sharp eyes—though she clearly did not know the reason for their sudden estrangement, she was not made unhappy because of it either. On the contrary, she became—marginally—politer to Elizabeth as a result and stopped watching her as closely as she had been wont to since the sisters' arrival at Rosings.

As for Elizabeth's feelings regarding Mr. Darcy, on one level, she knew that he had been looking after her—her reputation if nothing else—and she could not fault him for that. Indeed, he seemed so antagonistic toward Mr. Wickham—something Elizabeth, who considered herself a victim of the man, could understand—that Elizabeth wondered if he knew something of Mr. Wickham beyond the information to which she was privy.

On another level, Mr. Darcy absolutely infuriated her. He was a competent and extremely capable man—of that she was well aware. But that competence appeared to lead him to the belief that he, despite the situation and persons involved, invariably knew best. His warning against Mr. Wickham might have been better received if it had been delivered in a more tactful manner—perhaps it would not have been accepted with complete composure, Elizabeth was able to admit to herself, but at least there would have been an absence of the antagonism his discourteous demands had engendered.

Elizabeth felt she was owed an apology, regardless of what Mr. Darcy's intentions had been, and she was determined that he would receive no further attention from her until it was obtained. He could not be allowed to suppose that his behavior would be dismissed without proper amends being made.

Another change those days wrought was the return of Mr. Baker to Rosings park, though Elia Baker continued to stay away. It was an unfortunate consequence of the composition of the society in the area, perhaps, but Mr. Baker was the only other young man within close proximity of Rosings, which meant that he, almost by default, became Mr. Darcy's primary source of male companionship. And though Elizabeth did not really consider the two men truly compatible in their dispositions or interests, they were often found together riding, ensconced in the billiards room, or partaking in any of the other entertainments in which young men took pleasure. Elizabeth supposed that the reason Mr. Baker had not been in evidence as much before was because Mr. Darcy had been engaged quite often with her, busying himself with their riding lessons and other such matters—but now that she was essentially not on speaking terms with Mr. Darcy, he was free to once again revert to his normal pursuits.

That Mr. Baker, when among company at Rosings, often paid attention to her was undeniable, but the man's intentions were much more difficult to read. It was clear to Elizabeth that he liked her—their conversations were often lively and interesting, and he sought her out whenever he had a chance. His admiration, however, seemed a halfhearted thing at best. He could laugh and flirt, lavishing her with attention, but it all seemed so superficial, and his emotions seemed to be but little engaged—the look in his eyes, though friendly, did not show the level of admiration she would have expected from a man who appeared to be purposefully seeking her out.

One thing was certain—Mr. Darcy's scowls when she was engaged in discussion with Mr. Baker were pointed and rather unfriendly. It appeared to cause a certain tension between the young men as well; they would often show up at Rosings quite easy in one another's company, only for their faces to immediately change to frowns once Elizabeth was spied and Mr. Darcy's company exchanged by James for hers.

Elizabeth was not certain what was occurring between the two men, but she heartily wished they would cease their maddening behavior. Mr. Darcy was acting like an elder brother, determined to vet any potential suitors and be displeased with them regardless of their standing or intentions, if his behavior toward Mr. Wickham and Mr. Baker were any indication—if indeed there was not some other reason for his disapproval of Mr. Wickham. What he had found wanting in Mr. Baker, Elizabeth could not be certain, but she was tired of his attitude. Her one source of retribution—which undoubtedly exacerbated the tension which subsisted between them—was her perverse delight in taking every opportunity to converse with Mr. Baker, laugh at his antics, and raise an eyebrow in Mr. Darcy's direction whenever she felt his unfriendly gaze upon her companion. Perhaps it was beneath her to act thus, but sometimes she could not help it—the man aggravated her so!

On a fine late spring afternoon, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Baker had returned from a ride some time earlier, and the occupants of Rosings had retired to one of Rosings' sitting rooms. Mr. Baker had immediately approached Elizabeth upon entering the room and had proceeded to engage her in conversation. Mr. Darcy had fallen into his usual brooding silence while watching them keenly. Of the other occupants of the room, Mary was sitting quietly, a book open in her lap, while Lady Catherine sat in her regal, throne-like chair, pontificating on anything and everything, all in the unqualified tone of authority which usually characterized her discourse. Only Anne was missing from the company, having retired to her room a while before.

The company continued in this attitude until suddenly Lady Catherine stopped and glared about the room. Elizabeth thought the rest of the inhabitants to be too pleased with the cessation of her continual blathering to take any notice of the activity in which she was currently engaged. As Lady Catherine stared at the room, her look became more and more speculative, and consequently, her expression became darker and darker. Elizabeth watched this continue for several moments before she saw an offended expression slip over the lady's face and heard her speak:

"No, no, this will not do indeed!"

Mr. Darcy was startled out of his apparently dark thoughts. "Of what are you speaking, aunt?"

"This room," responded she, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I cannot imagine why I did not notice it before, but whoever is responsible for the layout of the furniture did not consult me, for I would never stand for such blatant misplacement."

"The furniture, Lady Catherine?" spoke Mr. Darcy, with some confusion. "It appears much as it ever has."

"And that is indeed the problem, Fitzwilliam," insisted his aunt. "This furniture is placed in a completely erroneous manner. Why, look at that sofa—the position in which it sits is completely reprehensible. No, indeed, it will not do—it must be moved."

By now, the entire company was staring at Lady Catherine as though she she was standing on the table, dancing and singing bawdy tunes from the roughest of taverns. Only Mr. Darcy, who was undoubtedly more familiar with the lady than any of the other occupants, appeared to be unsurprised. Was Lady Catherine possibly prone to this type of impulsive behavior?

"In fact, it shall be moved," declared Lady Catherine. "I insist upon it."

Mr. Darcy heaved an almost imperceptible sigh and rose from his chair. "I shall call the footmen—"

"No, indeed," interrupted Lady Catherine. "There is no need to call the footmen—you and Mr. Baker, I am certain, shall be more than capable of moving the furniture without any trouble at all."

Though Mr. Darcy's expression was unreadable, Elizabeth's quick glance at Mr. Baker showed a slightly amused smirk upon his face. He was not put out by the lady's suggestion in any way and in fact appeared to find the situation almost humorous. He turned toward the other gentleman, his question expressed in nothing more than a raised eyebrow. Mr. Darcy's responding shrug prompted a smirk. Both gentlemen rose, Mary vacated her seat on the sofa, and the two men positioned themselves at either end of the large and overly ornate piece of furniture.

Of course, it was impossible for Lady Catherine to leave the movement of the furniture to the gentlemen. Even after she had explained to them in excruciatingly explicit detail exactly what she wished done, she found it necessary to instruct them even further—and in closer proximity to where they were attempting to do as she commanded. As usual, no facet of the endeavor was beyond her notice, and she expounded upon everything from the proper grip to the exact pace in which they must move to ensure the proper and easy movement of the sofa. Unfortunately, she was standing a little too close to the furniture when it began to move, so intent was she on making her opinion known.

The first hint of trouble occurred when the sofa began to shift in the gentlemen's arms, as a slight popping sound could be heard. Soon after, once the gentlemen began to drag the heavy piece toward its ultimate destination, the sound of further popping could be heard, and the bottom and sides of Lady Catherine's dress appeared to fall apart of their own volition. Looking down, Elizabeth could see the bottom of Lady Catherine's lace caught upon a castor of the sofa, and as the gentlemen moved away, the stitches gave way, dragging the lace from her dress, strewing it haphazardly across the carpet, and exposing the uneven line of the fabric which the lace once hid. It was truly a sight to be seen.

The great lady peered down at the carpet in astonishment, her face caught in an expression of mortified offense that her furniture and dress could conspire to betray her in so infamous a manner. It was not until the sofa had reached its destination—and the greater part of the lady's lace had been forcibly removed from her dress—before the straining men realized there was something amiss. Having set the sofa down on the floor heavily, Darcy peered back at the line of lace which lay across the carpet and then up at Lady Catherine, who was staring at it in mortification.

Now, it must be said that the lady was incensed with the treatment her gown had received. But though it was obvious her sense of outrage had been provoked, it was clearly warring with the necessity of staying agreeable to her nephew, and after a few moments, her indignation died a most unceremonious death. She said not a word; rather, gathering whatever dignity she retained, she left the room after dispensing an imperious sniff at the gathered witnesses to her disgrace, trailing a long line of rent and ruined lace in her wake.

Upon her departure, there was nothing further to be done. Mr. Baker soon excused himself and quit the house, while Elizabeth, noting that Mary was shaking with fatigue—though it could just as easily have been suppressed mirth!—conducted her sister to her room to rest. However, not feeling weary in the slightest, Elizabeth decided to visit the library in an attempt to try to distract herself from the amusing scene which had played out before her very eyes.

It was but a moment after entering the library when she discovered that she was not alone—apparently Mr. Darcy had had the same idea as she. Though she was still angry with the gentleman, the sight of him caused a small giggle to escape her lips, and she turned away, desperately trying to hold on to her composure.

"Miss Bennet?" queried Mr. Darcy. She could almost hear the confusion in his voice. "Are you unwell? Shall I get you something for your relief?"

Elizabeth laughed out loud, unable to hold her mirth in any longer, and Mr. Darcy, though he was perhaps loathe to laugh at a family member, could be seen fighting a smile of his own.

"I daresay your aunt learned her lesson about standing too close to moving furniture," said Elizabeth between laughs.

For the first time, Mr. Darcy responded with a mirthful chuckle of his own. "I do not doubt she has. In fact, I believe she may think twice before asking me to move her furniture again."

"It is a lesson worthy of learning, indeed, Mr. Darcy!" proclaimed Elizabeth, still laughing.

They continued sharing their mirth for several more moments until another thought struck Elizabeth.

"I believe your aunt must be most pleased, indeed," said she, a wide grin etched upon her face.

"Whatever do you mean, Miss Bennet?" replied Darcy, a slightly suspicious expression warring with his still laughing mien.

"Why, your aunt does so love to be of use to all and sundry, and I believe she has done so today. I believe the best thing for us all after the last few days was to indulge in a good laugh, and she has been the means of providing it for us!"

"I hardly think that was her object today," chuckled Darcy. "But I daresay you are correct in your estimation."

This was the Mr. Darcy she found she could converse with quite cheerfully, Elizabeth reflected. It was clear that he should indeed laugh more often, as it rendered his face uncommonly attractive when he did. A lady could verily swoon when presented with the sight of a brilliantly smiling Fitzwilliam Darcy.


	59. Chapter LIX

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Lady Catherine's dress is ripped due to her command for the moving of furniture, and Elizabeth and Darcy laugh about it in the library.

* * *

**Chapter LIX**

The mirth produced by the unfortunate clothing incident had an undesired effect on Elizabeth, softening her toward Mr. Darcy in a way she was barely prepared to acknowledge to herself. The next day, she found her head filled with thoughts of the man, and she began to wonder how precisely she should view him. And then something occurred which threw her mind into further confusion—she saw Mr. Darcy speaking with Elia Baker, who had come to Rosings for a morning visit.

He seemed pleased with Elia's presence, talking to her in a low voice and nodding in acknowledgement of much of what she said. Elizabeth, looking at them, saw something in their expressions and conversation that made her feel sick at heart. Before coming to Kent, she had never heard of any relationship between them. Anne de Bourgh, however, had soon appeared to view Elia as a potential rival for Mr. Darcy, but Elizabeth had not quite believed Elia suited for Mr. Darcy. Judging by Elia's suggestion that Mr. Darcy abandon Elizabeth while he was riding horses with her, Elia seemed to believe that Mr. Darcy cared greatly for her. Yet Elizabeth had never truly thought them viable as a couple until now. Something significant appeared to exist between them, though she was not aware of the extent of it.

Elizabeth had almost begun to care for Mr. Darcy. It was difficult to admit to herself, but it was the only explanation for why his interactions with Elia caused such distress. A part of her reminded her she was still angry with what he had done in regard to Mr. Wickham and in regard to Jane, yet that part of her kept remembering how they had laughed together. And that part also remembered how many times they had conversed, and how their tastes and opinions complemented each other so well. She was just coming to a realization that she and Mr. Darcy actually suited one another very well indeed.

Absentmindedly, she reached up and took a book from the shelf. It was a rare and expensive edition of John Milton's _Paradise Lost_, but though she opened it up and stared down at the pages, she still could not tear her thoughts from Elia and Mr. Darcy.

Perhaps she was not skilled at reading the man, but Mr. Darcy's response to Elia usually appeared somewhat ambiguous. Before today, she had believed he enjoyed Elia's company—yet she had also not been sure that he had any particular regard for the woman. Now, however, she was beginning to doubt that assessment. _Could_ he intend to marry Elia?

Elizabeth's right hand clenched a page of the book. She knew she could not hold up to Elia, even if the woman appeared to be somewhat lacking in intellect. Elia was beautiful and of good station, and Elizabeth had learned that her connections were impeccable; there was no reason for Mr. Darcy's interest to ever wane. In fact, she could not help but think he was similar to her father in that respect—both had shown interest in a young and pretty yet flighty thing. Could true happiness ever be found in such a relationship?

She sighed. Her father certainly did not seem exactly happy—though Elizabeth had to admit that he appeared to have found a certain contentment. But it was true that he preferred the company of books to that of his wife. Would Mr. Darcy end up the same way with Elia, as Mr. Bennet had with his wife?

"Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth jumped, her right hand flinging out to the side. Unfortunately, her fingers were holding a corner of the book's page too tightly, and when she jerked it to the side, a page tore out. Elizabeth stared down at the page in mortification, not even daring to look up and acknowledge Mr. Darcy's presence. Instead, she whispered to herself: "Oh, no. What have I done?"

"Miss Bennet," said Mr. Darcy hesitatingly.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy," said she in a panic, finally lifting her head up to gaze at him. "I seem to have done something terrible. This edition of this book is very rare indeed."

"It was my fault, Miss Bennet. You must allow me to replace it."

"No," said Elizabeth adamantly, shaking her head. "I do not need your assistance, Mr. Darcy. I shall somehow procure a copy and replace it."

"Miss Bennet, I startled you—"

"Mr. Darcy, it was my own fault. The blame belongs to me alone." Though Elizabeth's voice had become calm, inside she was very distraught indeed. Books were expensive items, and this one was even more so. Coming up with the funds would be difficult enough—but finding the book would be a challenge she was not certain she could handle. Her only hope was to write to the Gardiners for assistance. Her uncle might be able to help her, yet she feared the search for the book would take far too long. Still, she was determined to decline Mr. Darcy's offer of assistance.

He observed the book for a long moment before venturing once again: "Miss Bennet—"

"Please excuse me, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, wanting to be away from him and to escape her humiliation. Why did such a thing have to happen to her!

* * *

Darcy watched as Miss Bennet left the library. She was obviously trying to hide her distress over the wounded book, but he was more concerned about her than the paltry object. No matter how rare an edition the book was, it could be replaced—he would not have her distressed so for any matter so inconsequential.

After seeing Miss Baker that morning, he had begun to realize that his interest in Miss Baker was decreasing. He had been interested in her as a pretty little thing whose place in life would match his own well enough that he could justify marriage to her as a fulfillment of his duty to the Darcy name. Now, however, though he still at times found her to be amusing, he was discovering that her moments of obtuseness were beginning to wear on him. Could a life with her truly be enjoyable?

As he thought about the two women, he found himself reaching a startling conclusion. Miss Bennet was far superior to Miss Baker—and always would be. There was no contest in his mind. What was more—he had absolutely no desire to marry Miss Baker. His interest in her had vanished like smoke in the wind.

Once, he had believed he could do it. He had believed that she was exactly what he had wanted. But now that he had known Miss Bennet for so long, he knew he could no longer settle for someone as unstimulating as Miss Baker. The difference between the ability of the two young women to provoke a response in him was rather startling, and was one he doubted he would have recognized had he not had them in so close proximity to him so he could compare.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth still appeared to be upset with him. He did not know why she seemed so averse to his replacing the book, but he suspected she was still upset about the recent incident with Mr. Wickham. He had hoped they would be able to move past that quickly, but perhaps he was not so fortunate.

At least he would be able to talk to someone about his dilemma soon. He had received a reply from Bingley which said the man would be coming in a few weeks to Rosings after getting some affairs in order.

Darcy was glad Bingley was coming. His friend would be able to help him sort things out. When it came to matters of the heart, Darcy felt ill qualified to judge his own feelings. Perhaps Bingley would bring him some perspective.


	60. Chapter LX

**Previously:** Elizabeth thinks Darcy is interested in Elia, and rips a page out of an expensive book when startled. Darcy is happy Bingley is coming, so he can get some advice.

* * *

**Chapter LX**

The day following the incident in the library, Elizabeth took great care to avoid Mr. Darcy as much as she possibly could. The mortification she had felt upon ruining an obviously expensive and treasured book was acute, and she found she could not face him so soon after her utter humiliation.

The situation was made worse by the fact that she knew it would not be easily replaced. She had written to her uncle immediately, asking for his assistance in the endeavor, and though she would like to believe that the whole business would be resolved with alacrity, she knew that such a volume would be difficult to locate, aside from any concerns about cost. Still, she had to make the attempt—had she not been so far gone in her thoughts, she would not have been startled so, and she would consequently have protected the precious volume. Still, what was done was done, and now she had to take responsibility for the remedy of the situation.

The next morning, Elizabeth was still not in a mood to brave facing Mr. Darcy, and as a result, after taking breakfast with Mary in her room, she took the first opportunity to escape the house and go on a long walk. Mary appeared to be doing somewhat better, and Elizabeth was convinced that she could leave her sister for a short while without any ill effects. Beyond that, she was in desperate need for some time alone to think about what was happening in her life.

She stepped from one of the rear exits to Rosings and began making her way through the formal gardens to one of the wilder paths which led up through several copses of trees, already feeling lighter than she had in days.

A flickering light through the trees caught her attention, and for the moment, she stopped and examined the direction where she had seen the light—after all, she did not wish to inadvertently come across Mr. Darcy. The whole purpose of her walk was to avoid him. She studied the scene for several moments but gave up when nothing presented itself—unless the man was stalking her, she would have seen further movement and been warned against taking the path she had determined to walk.

Putting the man out of her mind completely, Elizabeth began walking again, and soon she was in the woods, glorying in the stillness of the air, the chirping of birds, and the fragrances drifting along the slight breeze which tickled her cheeks and ruffled her hair.

She walked on in this attitude for some time before someone appeared around a bend in the path. Elizabeth stifled a groan as she saw the insincere smirk of her former paramour, though she plastered a smile on her face and attempted to make the encounter as brief as possible.

"Good day, Mr. Wickham," said she before attempting to move past him on her walk.

The scoundrel, however, was not about to allow her to escape so easily. He bowed with a gallant flair, reaching out to grasp her hand and place a kiss on its back. "How do you do, Miss Bennet?" exclaimed he. "I must say you are a vision of true loveliness on this beautiful day."

Elizabeth pulled her hand from his grasp and turned a stern glare upon him. "Mr. Wickham, I have not given you leave to take such liberties, and I would implore you to keep your flattery to yourself. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to continue on my walk."

"Miss Bennet," said Mr. Wickham as he reached out and stopped her attempt to move away, "I am very grieved indeed that you think me anything but sincere. I once held the greatest of affection for you, and I would do so again, should you give me any encouragement."

His mien took on a sad quality, and he dropped his hands to his sides. "I can only conjecture that Mr. Darcy has poisoned you against me, as is his wont. Truly, the man hates me beyond measure and takes great delight in blackening my name wherever he goes."

This, of course, piqued Elizabeth's interest—she had wondered for some time at the reason for their distaste for each other. However, knowing Mr. Wickham for what he was, and knowing he was nothing more than a silver-tongued devil blessed with agreeable manners, Elizabeth was certain she would not obtain the full—or truthful—story from him. As such, the only option was to excuse herself and leave him behind.

"This might be true, except for the fact that Mr. Darcy has not spoken a word of his past dealings with you. And I am sure, Mr. Wickham, that you require no assistance from him in blackening your own name—your behavior all but ensures it."

A slight tightening of his mouth bespoke his displeasure, but he never wavered. "But are you not curious as to how Mr. Darcy became so ill disposed toward me?"

When she hesitated a moment, Mr. Wickham continued, a mournful expression plastered upon his face.

"I believe I have never told you much of my past. The unfortunate reason is that it was far too painful for me and that I had desired to forget, as much as possible, the disappointment I suffered at the hands of your Mr. Darcy.

"I was not born a gentleman, though I have been fortunate enough to ascend to that rank. My father was the steward of old Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam's father—and I had the very good fortune to have Mr. Darcy as my patron. Fitzwilliam and I grew up together, playing together and spending the bulk of our time in one another's company. In fact, I believe that at one time we were as close as brothers.

"Unfortunately, such happy circumstances were not to last. As we grew older, our relationship grew more and more distant. And when we went to Cambridge together, we were almost strangers.

"You may wonder at my ability to attend such a prestigious institution. It was due to the good will of Mr. Darcy alone that I was so favored—he sponsored me in my education, showing his great love and affection for me, and he desired very much that I should make the church my calling for the future. And I dearly would have loved to do so—it was my fondest desire.

"Perhaps you would wonder why Fitzwilliam became so disposed to hate me, Miss Bennet. Can you not guess his reasons?"

Elizabeth kept carefully silent. She felt that at least some of what he was telling her was the truth, but she could not be certain exactly which part—nor could she be sure what he was leaving out. She did, however, understand that giving him any hint that she felt him to be untruthful could lead to his behavior becoming unpredictable. She wished for him to arrive at his point and then leave her alone.

"Why, the reason was pure unadulterated jealousy on his part, Miss Bennet!" exclaimed Mr. Wickham. "Darcy saw how his own father favored and loved me, and he could not abide his father having more than himself in his heart. It was for this reason he became so vindictive against me.

"In fact, though his father died some years ago, and the family living he had promised me fell vacant, Darcy refused to follow his father's directions and present me with that which was my birthright."

Elizabeth feigned the appropriate level of shock, though privately she thought that Mr. Darcy, with his adherence to his duty and reverence toward his elders, would be unlikely to go against his father's express wishes, regardless of his feelings for Mr. Wickham. "I cannot believe it!" cried she. "I have always known Mr. Darcy to be proud and somewhat aloof, but I had not thought him capable of such malicious retribution. Did you have no recourse through the courts?"

The smile on Mr. Wickham's face clearly indicated his confidence that he had succeeded in earning her sympathy. "Alas, no. Old Mr. Darcy's will left the wording of the bequest somewhat vague, no doubt having faith that his son would understand the request and act accordingly. There was nothing to be done, as it was not explicitly stated."

"Then how did you come to reside in Meryton?" asked Elizabeth.

"I was left with several thousand pounds, both by my father and by the benevolence of Mr. Darcy," was Wickham's reply. "I had managed to invest some of that money—which paid off rather handsomely—allowing me a life of some leisure which allowed me to interact with the society in which I had been among all my life. It was then that I was fortunate enough to make your acquaintance."

The salacious gleam in his eyes made Elizabeth distinctly uncomfortable, but she bravely held her ground. "Apparently, Mr. Wickham, our meeting was not _too_ fortunate. After you had had an opportunity to charm me and to profess your love to me, you immediately quit my presence and declared yourself in love with someone else. Do you always profess such feelings to young and impressionable maidens, or was I the only lucky recipient of your tender declarations?"

"Miss Elizabeth, you wound me," declared Wickham, placing a hand over his heart. "You, of all people, should understand that we are all slaves to our emotions. I hold you in the highest of esteem, but from the moment I met her, I knew my wife to be the love of my life. I apologize most abjectly if I have disappointed you, but I assure you that I had no intention of hurting you.

"In fact," continued he, approaching her with a gentle expression on his face, "I believe I could easily reclaim those feelings if you would give me half a chance. I believe we had something special together, and I would very much like to explore what we had once more."

"I think not, Mr. Wickham," responded Elizabeth with a slight shudder. "Whatever feelings I once had for you have long since dried up."

"That is unfortunate," replied he, still fixing his gaze upon her. He was making her quite uncomfortable with his frank appraisal, and Elizabeth wished for him to turn his attention to someone else. She would have nothing to do with him.

It was at that moment when the sound of hoofbeats reverberating through the air caught Elizabeth's attention, and she looked up and caught sight of Mr. Darcy approaching them. His face was a mask of displeasure as he regarded her, but when he turned to Wickham, it became an expression of pure loathing.

He jumped down from his horse and approached Mr. Wickham, his fists clenched with rage. "Wickham! What are you doing here? I told you to stay off of Rosings' property. Now, be gone!"

Wickham's answering smile was all insolence. He bowed at Elizabeth and sneered at Darcy: "Charming to the last, Darcy. Miss Elizabeth, I shall take my leave of you."

A moment later, he was gone down a bend in the path, leaving Elizabeth alone with Mr. Darcy.

"Miss Elizabeth, I really must insist in the most serious manner that you do not allow yourself to be alone in Mr. Wickham's company again. You do not know him—you do not know of what he is capable. You must stay away from him."

"Once again, Mr. Darcy, you are attempting to impose your will upon me," snapped Elizabeth in response. "I am more than capable of handling my own concerns and would ask you to mind your own."

Elizabeth sniffed once at Mr. Darcy in disdain and stalked off in the opposite direction Wickham had taken. The gall of the man—the sheer effrontery! How dare he speak to her as though she was a wayward child in need of correcting! She did not think that she had ever met such a domineering, self-centered man as Mr. Darcy—even Mr. Wickham did not possess the ability to irritate her that Mr. Darcy did.

Her time at Rosings was truly beginning to wear on her. From Mr. Darcy's attempts to control her, to Lady Catherine's condescending tones and meddling ways, to Anne's cold antagonism—why, the Darcy family would be the death of her! How she wished she could leave and return to Longbourn and the world she knew.

She stayed away from Mr. Darcy for the rest of the day, but complete avoidance was not possible. He cornered her after dinner and attempted to explain himself once more.

"Miss Elizabeth," said he, "I should not like you to come to the wrong impression. I have no reservations about your competence or your ability to discern the motivations of others. But I know Mr. Wickham, and he truly is not the type of man with whom you should associate. And you certainly should not be alone with him!"

Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her temples, fearing the onset of a headache. Perhaps she had overreacted, but the man infuriated her so!

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy," replied she after a moment's thought. "I admit that I have some reservations about Mr. Wickham, and the times you have seen me together with him, I have come across him quite by accident. I do endeavor to avoid him, contrary to what you may believe.

"However, my business is my own, and as you just admitted, I can determine for myself those with whom I wish to associate. I appreciate your wish to keep me safe, but the manner in which you have castigated me is not appreciated, nor is it welcome."

Mr. Darcy appeared to be truly contrite, and Elizabeth softened slightly toward him.

"I shall attempt to moderate my words of caution then," was his grave reply.

They said nothing further, and soon after, both excused themselves to retire. And though Elizabeth felt a little better about his manner, she hoped that he now understood that his interference was not appreciated. Otherwise, she might have to beat the man away with a stick so he would leave her alone.


	61. Chapter LXI

**A/N:** Deja Vu here. Thanks for the feedback! I would like to note that we are expecting this will be around 90 chapters or so—which means there's still a lot to go! :)

**Previously:** Elizabeth comes across Wickham again, and Darcy tries to interfere once more, thereby invoking Elizabeth's anger at his officiousness.

* * *

**Chapter LXI**

Perhaps it was inevitable. After all, Elizabeth appeared to have somehow been targeted by inordinate amounts of hostility (from Anne de Bourgh), officiousness (on Lady Catherine's and Mr. Darcy's part), stress (due to her sister Mary's condition), and frustrating meetings (with Mr. Wickham). Miss de Bourgh appeared to be grow harsher to Elizabeth by the day, Lady Catherine's voice appeared to become more shrill, Mr. Darcy appeared to grow more controlling, Mary appeared to leave her room less and less, and Mr. Wickham appeared to show his face more and more. Elizabeth's nerves were being stretched to the utmost, and she was becoming less inclined toward putting on a cheery face toward the world.

What happened next was more a byproduct of her mood than anything else. She went to the Rosings library to escape Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh, and there her thoughts unfortunately moved to darker places. First, she thought of Mr. Wickham. She was incensed at his presence and felt herself a fool for having ever truly thought he was her suitor. He was the worst of scoundrels, and she had been naive to have ever thought of him in such a way as she had.

From Mr. Wickham, her thoughts turned to Mr. Darcy. Her feelings about him were particularly ambiguous. She was confused about how she felt about him. It was hard to reconcile her anger toward him with the knowledge—though she could barely admit it to herself—that she would be devastated if she never saw him again. But she believed he would never view her in a serious fashion—she was beneath him in consequence, and her dowry was low enough that he had no reason to look her way. She then paired with these feelings was her resentment toward his attempts to control her. From there, her mind moved to her sister, and her thoughts grew black. Mr. Darcy had had no right to separate Jane and Mr. Bingley—and he had almost ruined Jane's life forever. How could he believe he had the right to interfere in the lives of others in such a fashion? Jane was the sweetest person in the entire world, and he had almost crushed her beneath his boot! It had been a terrible thing to do, and how could she ever forgive him for it?

This was the mood in which Mr. Darcy found Elizabeth. Occasionally, she was glad to see him in the library, but not this time. Today, she responded to his greeting with only a curt "Mr. Darcy" before she turned her eyes back to the library shelves without even a how-do-you-do. She picked a book without looking at the title, opened it to a random page, and stared down at it resolutely.

Mr. Darcy evidently did not know to leave well enough alone. "Miss Bennet, is there something wrong?"

"I am fine, Mr. Darcy," gritted Elizabeth, refusing to turn to look at him. Her eyes remained on the book, of which she was not reading a single word.

"Miss Bennet, if you are angry with me—"

Elizabeth swiveled to glare at him, bringing the book down to her side. "Of course I am angry with you!" cried she. "You are obsessed with control! Your high handedness with Mr. Bingley—for I have no doubt that it was you who convinced him to leave Hertfordshire—almost led to the complete ruination of my dear sister Jane's happiness! By telling him to leave, you played with both their emotions! And now, you have been trying to control someone again—you have been trying to dictate my movements and what company I keep!"

"Miss Bennet," said he stiffly, "I merely counseled my friend to be careful and make certain of his feelings before showing too much preference toward your sister. I did not know her feelings. I believed her indifferent to him and feared her main interest lay in his money. And as for—"

"You believed her an emotionless fortune hunter?" exclaimed Elizabeth, incensed. "How could you say such a thing! Jane is the purest person I have ever met!"

"And as for the accusations where you are concerned," continued Mr. Darcy as if he had not been interrupted, "I must tell you I am merely trying to prevent you from doing anything foolish."

It was the wrong thing to say. "Prevent me from doing anything foolish?" cried Elizabeth, flapping the book in her hand in the air. "You dare say such horrid things about my sister and then tell me you wish to control me? Mr. Darcy, you are despicable!"

And then it happened. The book somehow flew from her hand and toward Mr. Darcy's head. He managed to duck aside before actually being hit by it, but the fact remained that she had just thrown a book at him.

Her jaw dropped slightly as she stared at where the projectile landed. Then, flushed, she raised her eyes to Mr. Darcy and waited for him to express his indignation.

But that was not _quite_ what she received. "Miss Bennet," said he, "it seems you find pleasure not in reading books but in destroying them. Fortunately, your aim is not nearly as great as your propensity for book destruction."

She stared at him for a moment, and he looked back at her. Though his face was serious, there was a sort of encouragement in his eyes. Jesting was not his strong point, and yet he was doing his best to alleviate a tense and potentially disastrous situation.

She allowed herself to smile. "I suppose you are right, Mr. Darcy. I feel sorry indeed for the state of your aunt's library by the end of my visit." She moved to pick up the book, but Mr. Darcy was there first. He bent over and grabbed the book, which he looked at briefly before showing it to her.

"There is no harm done," said he.

"I am glad. I should hate to have to replace another of Lady Catherine's books." She then sighed, turning serious. "Please forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I have been somewhat tense lately." She looked down at the book. "And as for my sister, forget I said anything. It has all ended well, and there is no point in arguing about it."

"Miss Bennet, I am afraid I must speak to you about Mr. Wickham." He saw her begin to protest, and he held up a hand. "Please, allow me a moment." When she gave a hesitating nod, he continued:

"Mr. Wickham was the son of the man whom my father entrusted to manage Pemberley. As a result, my father was very kind to George Wickham, whose company he also enjoyed, and he and I grew up together. My father supported Mr. Wickham at school and at Cambridge, ensuring he received a gentleman's education. My father wished for his profession to be that of the church, and in his will he recommended that I help Mr. Wickham take orders and receive a family living. Miss Bennet, though Mr. Wickham may often seem amiable and all that is good, his character is a dark one indeed. I have often seen him display an utter lack of principle, and I have heard about many of his excesses—he has left behind debts and gambled away disturbing amounts of money, and I fear he has done much else besides.

"Knowing this about his character, when he wrote to me saying he did not wish to be a clergyman, I acceded to his desire for money in place of the opportunity for a church living. He told me that he wished to use it for studying law, and though I did not believe him, I gave him three thousand pounds. After a few years, he applied to me for more money, claiming he preferred to be a clergyman rather than a lawyer. It was based on this long history that I denied his request for assistance.

"Miss Bennet, you must trust me when I say that I have seen a lot of evidence as to what sort of man Mr. Wickham is. He preys on women with his charms, and he is not to be trusted. In addition, though I hate to speak so without proof, I believe his wife's death was not entirely an accident."

"I see," said Elizabeth softly, feeling more foolish than ever before. "Though I have known for some time that Mr. Wickham is not a good man, I am afraid it was not always so. I might have benefitted more from your longings years ago. Once, I fancied myself in love with him, and I thought he was in love with me. It was not a real love, yet it hurt when he left, and I resolved to avoid dancing as best as I could. It was what I had enjoyed most with him." She gave a half-smile.

Mr. Darcy shifted in place a little, looking uncomfortable and perhaps even agitated. "Miss Bennet—"

"It is quite all right, Mr. Darcy," interrupted she. "I have nothing but distaste for him now. I know that I should not be around him—yet he keeps showing up in unexpected places. It has not been my choice to see him; after all, I should be content if he should leave the country and never return. I do not welcome his attentions at all." She tilted her head and looked at Mr. Darcy seriously. "But I need you to know that you cannot control me. You can give me information, Mr. Darcy, as you just did, but you must not try to direct my actions. I am a bird whose wings must not be clipped, else I should cease also to sing."

Mr. Darcy gazed at her with what seemed to be a warm expression. "I should never wish to clip _your _wings, Miss Bennet. It would be a shame if your song could not echo throughout the world." He clapped a hand lightly on the book that had been thrown at him, which he was still holding. "I shall take what you said to heart, Miss Bennet. I must learn to relinquish some of the control to which I have become accustomed."

"If you can do that, Mr. Darcy, then you shall become an attractive man indeed." Elizabeth flushed—she had not meant to say that—and then she quickly took her leave of him. As she exited the room, she was certain his eyes were on her back.

Her thoughts went back to the book he had been holding. Who would have thought that such a violent move would provoke such a heart to heart?

As she walked away from the library, she thought about the slight smile tugging at his mouth as he watched her go and the hair across his forehead and the strength in his bearing—and how he was quite an attractive man regardless of his occasional infuriating officiousness.

She would certainly find it hard to wipe that image from her mind. Yet a part of her did not want to do so. It was far too pleasing.


	62. Chapter LXII

**Previously:** Elizabeth and Darcy have another confrontation in the library. They both explain their past associations with Mr. Wickham.

* * *

**Chapter LXII**

After her discussion with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth found living at Rosings was somewhat easier than it had been before. It seemed as though reaching an accord with Mr. Darcy and firmly setting the limits of their relationship—and the amount of _protection_ she desired from him—had helped a certain amount. There were, of course, still vexations—she _was sharing_ a house with _Lady Catherine de Bourgh_, after all, and as difficult as the elder de Bourgh could be, Anne was not a lot better. And despite her new accord with Mr. Darcy—or perhaps because of it—Elizabeth found her welcome by the de Bourgh ladies becoming more and more fragile.

In truth, Elizabeth would have preferred to leave Rosings. She truly wished to be back in her own home, in familiar surroundings where she could begin to attempt to put the past months in perspective. However, she would not abandon her sister to the two harridans, whatever the cost to her own peace of mind. So she stayed and attempted to put their unkindness out of her mind as much as possible. Of course, the thought of leaving Mr. Darcy behind had nothing to do with her decision to stay…

As for Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth was slightly bemused with the man. After their discussion in the library where they shared their grievances, he stopped regarding her with the apprehension which he had sometimes shown over the past few weeks, and he had even made the suggestion of a picnic the day after their tête-à-tête, much to her surprise. Though she was very conscious of the fact that she would much prefer to return to Hertfordshire, as a distraction, she agreed to the outing.

She _was_ slightly concerned when she found out that of the residents of Rosings, she and Mr. Darcy were only ones who were to attend. Mary still did not stir much out of doors, Anne _almost never_ stirred much out of doors, and Lady Catherine felt that picnics were for the lower classes and would not submit to partaking of a meal in such an unclean environment.

Her concerns were put to rest, however, when he informed her he had invited the Bakers to attend—more for propriety's sake than for any other reason, she thought. She knew he spent time with Mr. Baker due to a dearth of male companionship. But Miss Baker—his relationship with her was somewhat of a mystery. Why he would lose interest in such a beautiful woman with her fortune and impeccable connections, Elizabeth did not know, but at times he appeared to show a great deal of interest in her, while others, he almost appeared to wish to avoid her.

The morning of their picnic expedition, immediately after breakfast, he retired to the late Sir Lewis's study, which he now used to run the estate when he was in residence, stating an intention of completing the estate business for the day before they left the house. Elizabeth, having nothing to do and wanting to stay away from the ladies, retired to the library, hoping to lose herself in a book and pass away the time until luncheon. As another inducement, she hoped that she would be able to forget her troubles in the pages of a book. Even if it was only for a short time, any relief would be welcome.

However, such a respite was not to be. She entered into the library and began perusing its shelves, but there was not much to be had—unfortunately, neither Lady Catherine nor her daughter was a great reader, and as such, the library had been largely ignored. With a scarcity of volumes from which to choose, it was inevitable that her eyes fell upon the unfortunate volume she had damaged.

Immediately, Elizabeth was filled with shame, and she resolutely tore her eyes from the book. She had written to her uncle but had still not received a reply, and she was not certain how long it would take him to procure a replacement, let alone what the cost would be.

Shaking her head, Elizabeth tried to clear her thoughts—it would not due to dwell on what had happened. Not seeing anything which piqued her interest, Elizabeth chose a volume at random and sat down in a chair to read. But even that simple pleasure was denied to her as, after ten minutes of staring at the same page without seeing any of the words, the door opened, and one of the footmen stepped in.

"Miss Bennet," said he, "Mr. Darcy requests your presence in the study."

Elizabeth was tempted to ignore the summons—the baffling man was a serious menace to her equilibrium as it was. However, knowing that that he would undoubtedly come looking for her if she did not respond to his request, she sighed and, returning the volume back to its place on the shelf, quit the room.

A soft knock on the door, and then she had entered the room on his command, taking in the expensive and ornately carved desk behind which he sat, the bookshelves filled with ledgers and farming treatises, and the bright sunlight streaming in the window on the far side of the room. Elizabeth had never entered this room before, partially due to her confusion over the man and partially because she respected him for the diligence he displayed in taking care of his aunt's estate—a diligence which her father had only rarely shown, though the estate he managed was his own!

As Mr. Darcy glanced up at her, his face broke out in a smile, and he welcomed her to his sanctum. Rising, he opened one of the desk drawers and approached her.

"Miss Bennet, I thank you for attending me. I understand you may think it an impertinence, but I would very much appreciate it if you would accept this book with my compliments."

He extended his hand, and Elizabeth gasped when she saw the copy of Milton's _Paradise Lost_. She hesitantly took the book in her hand, peering up at him with no small amount of shock.

She opened the front cover and noticed a note written on a small piece of paper. It said:

_To Miss Elizabeth Bennet,_

_As a form of my apology for startling you, I would like you to have this book which so intrigued you. May you find enjoyment and enlightenment within its pages._

_Fitzwilliam Darcy_

Elizabeth glanced up at him, noting the soft smile which adorned his features—and the way his gaze was affixed on her. It was almost breathtaking in its intensity. It was at that moment that Elizabeth wondered what it would be like to be loved by such a man.

Shaking her head, she peered back down at the book, instantly finding the torn page which had been safely ensconced within its confines. But if this was the book she had damaged, then what had she seen in the library only moments ago?

"I sent to London to replace the book," said he, answering her unstated question. "I have already received a reply. I have a very good contact in London who is able to obtain a very great variety of books in very little time. The replacement copy is already in its place in the library."

Then his mouth twisted in a mischievous smile. "To be honest, as my aunt and my cousin rarely read, I doubt they would notice if the library suddenly ceased to exist, let alone realize the loss of a single book."

Elizabeth laughed along with him. Then she shook her head, and closing the book, she extended her hand, offering it back to him. "Sir, I cannot allow you—"

"It is already done," interrupted Mr. Darcy gently.

"But sir, it must have been a very expensive book. I cannot allow you to take responsibility for my mistake."

"Please, Miss Bennet, I wish for you to have this book," insisted Mr. Darcy, pushing the hand holding the book back toward her. "You say it was your fault, yet I was the one who startled you and caused you to jerk the page from its bindings. I wish for you to have it—indeed, I believe you to be one of the few who can truly appreciate its brilliance."

Elizabeth was torn—a part of her desperately wished to avoid accepting _any gift_ from him, while another was conscious of the conscientious and thoughtful manner in which he had attempted to protect her from her own folly. Who was this man? Was he the controlling and forceful man who watched her, interfering in the company she kept and ruining Jane's happiness, or was he the meticulous land-owner and book-savior who stood before her? Had she misjudged him severely, or was he so complex that any attempt to sketch his character was doomed to failure?

Though she desperately wished to refuse him, the intensity with which he regarded her left her breathless, and she found herself accepting his gift and offering thanks to him for his thoughtfulness.

The next few moments were spent in conversation—though Elizabeth would never be able to say exactly what they discussed—before Elizabeth curtseyed and left him to his business, intending to retreat to her room in an attempt to sort out her feelings, and regain some of her equilibrium.

Several hours later when the time came to depart on their outing, Elizabeth had still not sorted it out in her mind. She _did_, however, feel equal to the company of others and greeted the Bakers with every appearance of composure and civility.

Thus began the second, and in some ways far more vexing, part of the day. The brother and sister had arrived by curricle, and when they departed the house, Elizabeth saw that Rosings' curricle had also been prepared for their outing.

The two groups greeted one another, and Elizabeth was once again subjected to Mr. Baker's teasing conversation. But as had become somewhat of a game between them, he paid attention to her with teasing smiles and artful statements, and she responded in kind, by now understanding that his playful nature did not hide any significant depth of attachment.

Elia Baker's behavior, however, was something which Elizabeth had not before witnessed in the woman. She spared barely a short greeting for Elizabeth—while directing her brother's attention to her with little subtlety—before turning to Mr. Darcy with an enthusiasm Elizabeth had never seen in the woman. He greeted her with great civility, but her response was so overtly flirtatious and familiar that even the stoic Mr. Darcy was blinking with surprise. By the end of five minutes—when they were to leave—Elia was almost fawning over the clearly uncomfortable man.

When it came time to depart, Elia's countenance was at first surprised, and then her eyes narrowed, as Mr. Darcy guided Elizabeth to his curricle and settled her in while he himself joined her. Her displeasure obvious, Elia nevertheless allowed herself to be helped into her brother's curricle—Mr. Baker's face betrayed his amusement over the situation—after which they set off.

The journey lasted less than twenty minutes, Mr. Darcy expertly guiding the vehicle to a small glen hidden in the woods of Rosings Park, beside which was a small pond. In short order, the gentlemen had hobbled the horses and spread the meal on a large blanket which had been brought along for the purpose.

It was then that Elizabeth received her next shock, and she began to feel as though the day was taking on an almost surreal quality. The unpacked picnic basket was found to contain all of Elizabeth's favorite foods, all laid out as though the greatest care in the world had been taken in their preparation. Elizabeth was even startled to find a generous portion of goat's cheese, a favorite of hers despite its pungent odor and somewhat bitter taste. Mr. Darcy, however, she knew did not find the cheese to his liking, as she had discovered at a dinner party in London.

As they sat down to the feast, Elizabeth noted Elia sitting on the other side of Darcy, regarding the two of them with a look of distaste, though it quickly disappeared, and her normal expression of slightly vague pleasantness soon replaced it.

Mr. Darcy immediately turned to Elizabeth and offered the plate he had prepared to her. Not knowing what else to do, Elizabeth accepted it with a smile. He then proceeded to prepare his own plate, stacking two cubes of the pungent cheese on his plate in addition to the other items of which he desired to partake. Not knowing what to think, Elizabeth leaned toward him, and in a low voice, she said:

"Mr. Darcy, though I should not appreciate any attempt to control what _I_ eat, I certainly do not require _you_ to consume anything not to your taste!"

"On the contrary, Miss Bennet, I believe I would like to show you that I am serious about not controlling everything. If that entails eating foods which are more to _your_ palate, then I am happy to oblige you."

To punctuate his statement, Mr. Darcy speared one of the cubes and popped it into his mouth. Elizabeth almost laughed at the expression on his face—which he tried to suppress, though she would have sworn it was one of disgust—and she took one of her own pieces and daintily bit off a mouthful.

"Perchance I shall teach you to acquire a taste for some of my favorite foods?" said she in a teasing tone.

"Not for goat cheese," muttered he, swallowing his food with some difficulty.

Elizabeth could not help the laugh which escaped her lips at his antics, which prompted a wide grin from him in return.

"A picnic is such fun!" interrupted the voice of Elia. "I am most obliged that you have included me in your little outing. It _is_ truly unfortunate that picnics must be eaten _outside_—after all, it is so unsanitary, and the breeze truly does play havoc with my hair."

Sharing a glance with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth turned her attention to Miss Baker, noting the airy expression on her face and the studied nonchalance in which she delivered her inane statement. For the next several moments, Elia kept up a monologue, speaking of everything from picnics, to walking, to her favorite gown she wore at the last ball she attended, allowing for no conversation among the rest of the party. All the while, Mr. Baker smirked at his sister and winked at Elizabeth when she turned to look at him. Elizabeth was silent, listening to the woman speak and contemplating her behavior. Here was another who was puzzling in the extreme—Elizabeth was beginning to suspect there was more to Elia Baker than the woman let on.

The rest of their luncheon was consumed with the unending chatter of Miss Baker for accompaniment, and though neither Elizabeth nor Mr. Darcy were able to say much, Elizabeth laughed every time he ate a bit of the cheese he so detested, while he smiled at her and—with the greatest care and diligence—ensured she ate a little of every delicacy he had had prepared for her. Elizabeth was grateful for his care and concern and his attention to her tastes, even while she wondered what it meant.

They had just completed their luncheon and had packed the basket with the remaining fare when the sound of horse hooves drumming on the turf broke over Elizabeth's consciousness. The sound grew louder and more pronounced until a single rider broke through the foliage and, spying the company, spurred his mount toward them. His horse was lathered and blowing heavily as he rode up and dismounted, and his livery identified him as a member of the staff at Rosings.

He approached Mr. Darcy and, bowing hurriedly, spoke:

"Mr. Darcy, you must come quickly. It is Miss de Bourgh—there has been an accident."


	63. Chapter LXIII

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Darcy replaces the book Elizabeth tore and holds a picnic. But then a messenger approaches and says there was an accident involving Anne de Bourgh.

* * *

**Chapter LXIII**

Darcy was waiting.

Normally, he was a fairly patient man. He could keep a cool head in many situations which would have other men flying into a rage. Now, however, he was losing all shreds of his patience.

All he knew about what had happened to Anne was that she was in a carriage accident and had been brought home by the authorities. The messenger had not known any of the details, and Darcy had not been able to see his cousin.

When the doctor finally came out of Anne's room, he spoke to Darcy. His face was grim, and Darcy's slim hope was shattered.

"She is suffering from the accident. Her injuries are severe," said the doctor. "They appear to be primarily internal. I fear there is not much I can do for her but attempt to dull the pain, which is considerable."

"Then she—" Darcy hesitated to finish the sentence.

But the doctor knew what he was asking and gave him a knowing look. "Yes, I am afraid so. I believe she will die." He looked Darcy in the eye. "She asked to see you."

Darcy gave a curt nod and then went to Anne's room. Inside, Lady Catherine was standing by her daughter's bedside. She looked to be less in control and less certain of herself than Darcy had ever seen her. It was as though all of the wind had been taken from her sails. She was not spouting off advice or commands or even illustrating her supposedly vast knowledge of some insignificant subject. Instead, she was silent.

"Anne," said Darcy hesitatingly as he stood in the doorway.

"Please come closer, Darcy," said Anne, her voice weak.

Darcy took a few faltering steps forward until he stood at the foot of the bed. But then a slight gesture from Anne had him moving to stand by his aunt's side. A part of him hated to be in here like this—felt as if it were an invasion of her privacy—but he would not deny his cousin the opportunity to see him while she was on her deathbed.

"Thank you for coming," said Anne. "I have something to tell you."

"Whatever it is, it cannot be that important," said Lady Catherine, who seemed to have become at least a shade of her former self.

"You both need to know. The reason I was in the carriage is—" Anne took in a deep breath. "I was going to Scotland."

"Scotland?" echoed Lady Catherine. "Why ever would you want to go there?"

But Darcy had an idea of what she was trying to tell them, and he said: "You wished to go to Gretna Green?"

"Yes."

"With who?" asked Darcy.

Anne was quiet for a few moments. Her face was pale, and she looked as if she had recently acquired a complete knowledge of the world. Finally, however, she told them: "Mr. Wickham."

"Mr. Wickham?" cried Lady Catherine. "Surely you must be jesting!"

"No," said Anne softly. "I have been seeing him privately for a while, and once the idea of eloping was presented to me, it seemed so exciting—it seemed as if it would be such a great and wonderful change in my life. Now, however, I realize that he had no real feelings for me. He cared more for my fortune than for me. When the—the carriage crashed, he..." Anne closed her eyes. "He ran away."

"That blackguard," growled Darcy, infuriated. Lady Catherine, on the other hand, seemed utterly shocked, still trying to take in the fact that her daughter had been interested in such a lowly man.

"My feelings now are nothing like they were. I believe the man wholly despicable, and I must confess, Darcy, that I would not mind if you put him in his place. But he has probably fled far from here. I doubt you will be able to find him."

"Anne, why would you associate so closely with a man such as him?" asked Lady Catherine, who was obviously trying to regain some control of her speaking faculties.

"My illness made me feel so helpless, mother. And you—did you ever think of how awful it would feel to be told constantly not to go outside, what to eat and what not to eat, how you should not stand for any extended periods of time or participate in dances as other young women do? Your overbearing nature crippled me far beyond that of whatever illness had afflicted me with such a weakness of body."

Darcy looked toward Lady Catherine. Her mouth was gaping open, and she appeared to have been struck speechless. Darcy actually felt bad for her. How terrible must it have been for a mother to have her dying daughter tell her how horrible she had been?

"Anne," was all Lady Catherine could manage.

But Anne continued on without even sparing her mother a glance. "My only hope to escape all this was marriage. But I knew that Darcy would not marry me."

Darcy felt rather than saw Lady Catherine's eyes slowly move to him, but he did not remove his gaze from Anne's face. Was it true that he had failed her? If he had done his duty, would Anne have gone on to live a longer and happier life? Guilt began to invade his chest, and he clenched his fists together slightly.

Anne continued: "Once, I thought I loved Mr. Wickham. Now, however, I realize that I did not. He was simply my escape. I suppose I was using him just as he was trying to use me." She closed her eyes with a wince, her breathing labored. "It is somewhat ironic."

"Rest, Anne," said Lady Catherine in a voice softer than Darcy had ever heard her use.

After saying farewell to Anne, Darcy left the room, his footsteps slow and heavy. His mood was black indeed. His cousin was dying, and that scoundrel Mr. Wickham had run away.

His mood did not improve the next day when the men he had sent to find Mr. Wickham failed to recover him. He even searched himself, hoping against hope to find him in some hole. But he had no such news to give Anne, as the man was nowhere to be found, and she finally succumbed to her injuries. It was a Sunday, but the household of Rosings found it difficult indeed to muster any job in a celebration of the sabbath.


	64. Chapter LXIV

**Previously:** Darcy speaks with Anne and learns that she was on her way to Gretna with Wickham when the carriage accident occurs. Anne dies.

* * *

**Chapter LXIV**

The days following the death of the heir to Rosings were unsurprisingly bleak. Though the weather was unstintingly warm and sunny, it little affected the residents of the great estate.

Lady Catherine was deeply in mourning and would not leave her chambers—and often her bed—for many days after Anne's passing. Where she had always been a tall and imperious woman, dominating her domain with a single-minded will of iron, molding all to her whims, she now appeared old and tired—a shrunken shell of the woman she once had been.

It was during this time that Elizabeth began to see a different Lady Catherine from the one she had thought she had known. The lady had always seemed to be concerned for appearances rather than substance. As a case in point, Elizabeth considered the woman's insistence that her daughter marry Mr. Darcy regardless of the feelings of either party. Her reasons were almost completely dynastic and material in nature—the uniting of two great estates, making the family more powerful, and keeping their current riches within the control of the extended Fitzwilliam clan were without a doubt her primary motivations. As a result, she had always appeared rather cold to her only child, concerning herself with how to present Anne to her best advantage rather than seeing to her daughter's comfort. Anne's duty was of more import than her person.

In the days that followed the funeral, Elizabeth found herself witness to a different woman than she suspected almost anyone else had seen in many years. Perhaps it was because Elizabeth was the only other woman in residence who could attend the lady, as Mary was caught up with her own mourning and the demands of her still difficult situation. Regardless of how it had come about, Elizabeth found herself Lady Catherine's primary source of comfort and support, allowing a bond of sorts to form between them.

In the course of their discussions, Lady Catherine proved herself to actually possess a heart—something of which Elizabeth had privately been uncertain that the woman actually owned. They spoke of many things, most of which seemed to revolve around Lady Catherine's daughter, her regrets, and her love for her only child.

In short, Anne had always been a disappointment to Lady Catherine. The lady had always been a healthy, robust sort of person—to give birth to a sickly young woman who had always had to struggle for whatever health she possessed had been almost more than Lady Catherine could bear. Elizabeth also discovered that Lady Catherine's insistence on Darcy marrying Anne had been borne of desperation. The lady had been terrified that Anne would be preyed upon by a fortune hunter upon her death and that the estate would be bankrupted as a result. It was ironic that that was exactly the scenario which had been thwarted by nothing more than an ill-repaired carriage wheel.

But Lady Catherine had not loved her daughter any less for all her scheming. In fact, the very existence of the lady's desperate plotting was evidence of just how much she loved Anne, though perhaps the cynical minded might have pointed out that her desire of keeping Rosings in Fitzwilliam hands played a major part in the lady's motivations.

Regardless, once Elizabeth had come to know Lady Catherine through the lady's sometimes rambling words, she began to understand her better, which improved her opinion of the meddling old lady. Perhaps she would never be one who Elizabeth would ever truly be close to, but she was not as reprehensible as Elizabeth had originally thought.

For Elizabeth, the desire to depart this place forever was stronger than ever before, and she had almost decided to leave on more than one occasion. But she was still unwilling to leave Mary at Rosings without a friendly face, and now the situation with Lady Catherine had changed, making it impossible for Elizabeth to leave. She was now needed by _two_ mourning women, and beyond the fact that she was the one on whom they leaned, the feeling of being needed was welcome, though sometimes frustrating.

Besides, a niggling little corner of her mind told her that she would miss being with Mr. Darcy if she left. She tried to silence the voice, but it refused to be still, reminding her of the many times in which she had felt comfortable in his company and the way she had felt when they had debated, the way they had ridden together, or the way in which they had spoken of the various things in which they both took an interest. He was such a complicated man that it was often difficult to understand him, but he had the ability to take her breath away with his thoughtfulness. The picnic in particular had been a completely unexpected but utterly sweet gesture on his part—particularly when he had forced himself to eat her favorite cheese, even though he clearly detested it.

Mr. Darcy was not seen by the denizens of Rosings Park very much in the days following Anne's death. He seemed gripped by the overwhelming obsession to locate Mr. Wickham and make the man pay for what he had done. The times when Elizabeth was in his company, he appeared distracted and exhausted. Unfortunately, his efforts were for naught—whatever hole in which Wickham had hidden himself was beyond Mr. Darcy's ability to locate.

While the man's emotional state was uncertain, Mr. Darcy did not appear to be excessively saddened by his cousin's death, holding no more sorrow than that which was due a close relation. He certainly did not suffer as would a young man in love, reinforcing Elizabeth's observation of his utter indifference to Anne as a prospective marriage partner. His manner was indeed grim and unhappy, though Elizabeth attributed that to his anger with Wickham and his self-reproach at his inability to see through the man's intentions.

Elizabeth would have liked to have been able to convince Mr. Darcy that the events were not his fault, but she knew that he was a man who took his responsibilities very seriously. He had known of Wickham's character, but he had not suspected him of forming a design on his cousin. _That_ obviously rankled.

After the fact, Elizabeth was able to put the pieces of Anne's behavior together, and she wished she had been more perceptive before. The looks that they had exchanged when in company when Wickham had first arrived, the way Wickham had often shown up on Anne's heels, the way Elizabeth now suspected he had paid attention to her in order to distract them from his pursuit of Anne—it all made sense now. But there was little to be gained from castigating herself after the fact, Elizabeth decided.

With Lady Catherine incapacitated, Mr. Darcy had approached Elizabeth soon after Anne's death and asked her to take on the responsibility of running the manor house, while he continued to manage the estate affairs. At first, Elizabeth was wary of usurping Lady Catherine's position and provoking the Lady's displeasure, but after attempting to involve her in some of the larger decisions to be made—in which the lady took no interest at all—Elizabeth resigned herself to the necessity and shouldered the responsibility with little complaint.

The running of the manor, she found, was far easier than she had thought it would be. Her mother—despite her limitations—was an excellent mistress and had taught all her daughters how to run a household properly. And though Elizabeth would have thought that Rosings, being much larger than Longbourn, would thus be much more difficult to manage, in truth it turned out to be much the same. She consulted with Mr. Darcy on matters of great import and when she thought it was not her place to make a decision, but he appeared to be more than content to simply allow her to do as she liked, for he directed her but little.

Several days after Anne's death, Mr. Darcy made a comment which astonished Elizabeth greatly. They had retired to the drawing room for the evening after dinner, and though they were largely silent, the subject of the elopement and its possible consequences had come up.

"What will happen to Rosings now, Mr. Darcy? I had understood that Miss de Bourgh was the sole heir of the estate."

Mr. Darcy sighed and slumped down in his chair. "I admit I do not know. Sir Lewis had no relations for several generations back, and with Anne now gone, there will be some confusion as to who will inherit. If his will designates an heir after Anne, then that person will inherit of course. Otherwise, I suppose they will need to dig back in the de Bourgh family tree to discover the closest relation. It may become a matter for the courts and may subsequently become a battle before anything substantive is decided upon."

"I am indeed sorry that I did not see what was happening, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth.

"You could not have known, Miss Elizabeth," replied Mr. Darcy gently. "You were not familiar with Anne and her habits, and she covered her tracks very well indeed."

A low growl could be heard in the back of his throat. "And Wickham… The man is a blight upon the world. He is a snake who slithers and creeps on his belly until he is ready to strike out at his target. I assure you he is more than capable of performing such a deed without any warning.

"My only consolation is that the carriage he hired to convey them to Gretna was defective and he was prevented from realizing his goal. He was likely on his last few farthings and could not afford anything better. For that, I am grateful."

Elizabeth gasped. "Mr. Darcy! Would it not have been better for you to keep your cousin, even if she was married to him?"

"I assure you not," said Mr. Darcy, his voice cold. "Marriage to him would have been a living hell for Anne, of which infidelity would have been the least of her worries. I have only suspicions, but I believe that one way or another, she likely would not have been long for the world, even _had _they made it to Gretna."

"Surely you cannot be serious, Mr. Darcy!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"I assure you I am," confirmed he. "She is better off dead than married to that rake. I have known Mr. Wickham all my life and am well acquainted with his proclivities—a fragile young lady such as my cousin would not have survived long with him. I mourn her loss, but I have no illusions as to the quality of her life had she actually married him."

Nothing further was said between them that evening, and soon they both retired. Elizabeth could not remove Mr. Darcy's chilly tone or the ominous words which he spoke, and though she tried to refute them, she could not.

Furthermore, it made her aware of her own history with the man—and of how she herself had made a fortuitous escape from his clutches.


	65. Chapter LXV

**Previously:** The people at Rosings are sorrowful over Anne's death, and since Lady Catherine is incapacitated due to grief, Darcy and Elizabeth take control of the running of the estate. Elizabeth is even able to see a different side to the great lady.

* * *

**Chapter LXV**

Anne de Bourgh's funeral fell on the twenty-ninth of April. The day was not dismal, as one always expected the day of a funeral to be, yet neither was it cheery. The sky was clear, but no birds sang. However, the women at Rosings—waiting for the return of Mr. Darcy from the funeral—noticed none of this, cloistered as they were within a sitting-room of the great house.

The atmosphere in the quiet chamber was tense and sober. Lady Catherine was still enveloped in the shock and grief of her daughter's death, whereas Mary was pale yet solemn. The latter occasionally offered a few sparse and almost unintelligible words of comfort to the former, but Lady Catherine was difficult to reach within that cloud which was hanging over her. Elizabeth herself was wrapped up in a veritable storm of feelings, and she was finding it hard to sort through them.

Elizabeth was sincerely concerned about Lady Catherine's reaction to Miss de Bourgh's death. Lady Catherine was still but a shadow of her former self, and neither Elizabeth nor Mary knew what to do to bring her back to some semblance of life. While a quieter and less domineering Lady Catherine was preferable in some ways, Elizabeth would wish the loss of a daughter on no mother, and she wanted to find a way to induce some spark of life into her ladyship to break up the suffocating mood surrounding Rosings.

Elizabeth was even sorrowful over Miss de Bourgh's death. Though the young woman had not treated her well, Elizabeth had felt a sense of pity for Miss de Bourgh that could not be dismissed. Lady Catherine had been an overwhelming mother who had attempted to control every aspect of her daughter's life, from what Miss de Bourgh ate to where she went—and even when she slept. It had not been an easy life for Anne de Bourgh, and Elizabeth was perceptive enough to realize that all of the other woman's antagonism had stemmed from the misery of her life.

In addition to these feelings, Elizabeth was being assaulted by homesickness. She missed walking around Longbourn, missed the familiar paths and trees—she even found herself missing a little bit of the chaos of all her sisters running about the house preparing for an assembly.

But though she wished to go home—wished Mary were in a condition to travel—there was something that would have made her hesitate even should an opportunity for leaving immediately present itself. She simply could not make out her feelings for Mr. Darcy.

The whirl of confusion surrounding her opinion of the man was hard to straighten out. She was finding it so difficult to resolve the proud and controlling man with the one who had organized a picnic and eaten goat cheese to please her. How could she still feel so many conflicting emotions when it came to the man?

After a while, the object of her thoughts returned, and she found herself avoiding his gaze. Lady Catherine managed to ask a few questions about the funeral—the first Elizabeth had truly seen of some return of her ladyship's old self—and Mr. Darcy answered them quietly and briefly. Elizabeth could not help but wonder if this alternating mood of quiet fury and somberness would now shadow his footsteps until at last he came upon Mr. Wickham again.

The sitting-room soon fell quiet, yet it was not long before a visitor was announced.

When Elia Baker entered the room, all eyes slowly went to her. With a sense of ceremony about her, Miss Baker moved to Lady Catherine and began offering her condolences. But as Elizabeth stared at Miss Baker, she could not help but notice a sense of stiffness or tenseness about her, as if she did not truly care about comforting a grieving mother. When at last Miss Baker was seated, Elizabeth noticed the woman's eyes became affixed on Mr. Darcy. When he spoke a slight word to Elizabeth, Miss Baker's eyes sharply jolted to Elizabeth and then over the next several minutes moved from Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth and back again a multitude of times. Though Miss Baker and Elizabeth spoke directly to each other twice during this period, there was an undeniable tension between them.

Elizabeth knew exactly what Miss Baker was doing. The woman was using this visit as a way to watch the interactions of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

Knowing this infuriated Elizabeth. Using a time of mourning for such selfish purposes was rather tactless of Miss Baker, who Elizabeth was certain by now was more intelligent than she acted.

Elizabeth failed to rein in her anger, and she said stiffly: "Miss Baker, I do not believe this is the proper occasion for a social visit. At a time of grief such as this, I believe it is more appropriate to leave after offering your condolences than it is to linger and force the bereaved to participate in the banalities of unwanted small talk."

Miss Baker blinked at her in confusion and shock, managing only, "Miss B-Bennet."

Elizabeth—immediately repentant of the impropriety of her words, if not the words themselves—could not help but look at Mr. Darcy to see his reaction to her slip of propriety. His initial reaction was surprise, but his facial expression soon became more pensive.

Elizabeth did not have time to appraise the reasons for his reaction, as she soon had to handle the aftermath of what she had said. Lady Catherine appeared not to have heard what Elizabeth said, but Mary had, and Mary rose to begin the process of ushering Miss Baker from the room. Elizabeth assisted, managing somehow to maintain a measure of calmness and civility which conflicted with her inner feelings.

The situation was thus saved from disaster, but Elizabeth knew that the illusion of good will between her and Miss Baker would now be maintained only for the sake of others—not for the sake of relations between the two women.


	66. Chapter LXVI

**Previously:** Elia Baker visits after Anne's funeral. Elizabeth berates her for being insensitive to the family's loss.

* * *

**Chapter LXVI**

The situation at Rosings continued in much the same way as it had previously—the mood in the house was gloomy and oppressive, and the beautiful weather the country was experiencing could in no way improve the spirits of those in residence.

One development which occurred immediately after Anne's funeral was the dismissal of Mrs. Jenkinson, her companion. Lady Catherine had not been happy with Mrs. Jenkinson, blaming her for her daughter's death and claiming that the woman had not taken enough care in knowing where Anne was and how—and with whom—she was spending her time. Mrs. Jenkinson had shown her gentility by calmly listening to Lady Catherine's diatribe without showing the anger she was sure to have possessed. Then, after a brief time defending her actions, she departed and packed her bags, to be gone from the estate at the first opportunity.

It was not until later that Elizabeth discovered that the woman had not been sent away in disgrace as had originally seemed to be the case. During a conversation with Mr. Darcy, he let slip—Elizabeth thought accidentally—that he had provided the lady with a letter of recommendation in Lady Catherine's stead. After much prompting on Elizabeth's part, Mr. Darcy had revealed that he could not blame the woman in any manner. Working for Lady Catherine could not have been easy, after all, and Anne's recently found courage in putting herself forward—not to mention the manner in which she had hoodwinked them all—meant that Mrs. Jenkinson was, in his opinion being treated unfairly. Once he had made that determination, deciding to right the wrong had been the work of but a moment.

It was another facet to the infuriatingly complex man, and though Elizabeth agreed wholeheartedly with his assessment of Mrs. Jenkinson's merit, his actions served to confuse her even further.

As fate would have it, Elizabeth was afforded further opportunity to further consider Mr. Darcy, as the occupants of the house largely kept to themselves in the days following the funeral. With the exception of Mary—whom Elizabeth still tended to tenderly and with great affection, much though she hated to see Mary in her widow's attire—Elizabeth spent little time in the company of Mr. Darcy.

Lady Catherine, however, was another matter. Though she still resented the lady somewhat for her behavior, Elizabeth was truly moved by the elderly lady's suffering. Lady Catherine had, it appeared, truly loved her only daughter, and now that that daughter had been snatched away, she appeared to be a shadow of her former self. Not only was her countenance overtaken by a most alarming pallor, but a brief conversation with the lady's maid revealed that most of her meals were returned to the kitchens largely untouched. A mere look confirmed this—Lady Catherine was becoming thinner, almost wasting away before Elizabeth's very eyes. It did not take long for Elizabeth to determine that she would bring the matter before Mr. Darcy, who had taken little interest in the doings of his aunt.

Before she could, however, the state of the house was changed with the arrival of some of Mr. Darcy's relatives. Mr. Darcy, it appeared, was as surprised as was Elizabeth herself—it seemed as though he had had no warning of their imminent arrival. Their carriage arrived early in the afternoon on the Thursday after the funeral, and out stepped a gentlemen and two ladies. The gentleman was unknown to her, and one of the ladies was likewise. The second, Elizabeth had met before—Miss Georgiana Darcy. Though Elizabeth welcomed them warmly, she could in no way feel sanguine about the addition of Georgiana Darcy to their party. Though she felt that the girl was not precisely a bad person, Miss Darcy was undoubtedly a spoiled little girl, used to having her own way and, for all intents and purposes, an only child. Mr. Darcy had ever seemed to be more of a parent to her than a sibling.

The other two arrivals, whom Elizabeth had never before met, she soon discovered to be Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was a cousin of the Darcys and the son of the Earl of Matlock, and Mrs. Annesley, who was Miss Darcy's companion. Greetings were exchanged all around and introductions made, and while Georgiana Darcy's reaction to her brother was all it should be—she delightedly embraced him in the manner of siblings long separated—she spared only a glance, a barely audible greeting, and a slight curtsey for the two Bennet sisters.

The colonel, however, was a completely different matter. Upon being introduced to the two ladies, he smiled broadly and responded thus:

"Miss Bennet, Mrs. Collins, quite delighted! If I had known that my cousin was to meet such agreeable and beautiful ladies in Hertfordshire, I should surely have joined him there."

Elizabeth quickly determined that the colonel was an outrageous flirt.

"Now, cousin," began Mr. Darcy with a stern and disapproving expression that completely belied his fond tone, "I will not have you employing your usual flirtatious manner toward guests in this house. Besides, Miss Bennet is an intelligent and perceptive woman, well able to see through your overly familiar manner and skewer you should you become too close."

"Miss Bennet, what have you done to my cousin?" demanded the colonel. "Darcy's manners have never been this open with anyone other than a few very close family members."

"I assure you, cousin, Miss Bennet has done nothing to me," refuted Mr. Darcy. "Miss Bennet has been an acquaintance for several months now, and I consider her a friend."

The colonel had turned an appraising eye on her when Elizabeth, feeling slightly alarmed at this subject, burst in to the conversation. "Will you speak of me as though I am not even present?" exclaimed she. "I assure you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, that Mr. Darcy is much as I have have known him. But you, sir—you, I can tell, are an incorrigible flirt!"

"See, cousin?" chortled Mr. Darcy. "She saw through you in a matter of moments!"

The colonel placed a hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. "You wound me, fair maiden! I am devastated knowing that you would think so little of me after only a momentary acquaintance."

The three laughed good-humoredly at his antics, after which Elizabeth was introduced to Mrs. Annesley, who she soon discovered to be a stolid, genteel sort of woman, who spoke kindly to all and whose conversation betrayed her of being a most intelligent and well-informed sort of woman.

They all sat down to tea after a few more words of conversation, Elizabeth signalling to the staff to provide the refreshment. She noticed, as she did this, a frown on Miss Darcy's face, but as she was immediately engaged again in conversation with the gentlemen, she was given little time to consider the girl's reaction.

"I am surprised to see you here, cousin," said Mr. Darcy. "I understood that you were with your regiment and would be for some months. Could you not have sent ahead with word of your coming?"

"And miss the chance to surprise and discompose my inscrutable cousin?"

Mr. Darcy waved his hand irritably. "Must you always act with your typical lack of gravity, Fitzwilliam? Must I remind you that our aunt is in mourning?"

The colonel immediately sobered. "No, Darcy, your reminder is not necessary. I had several weeks' leave accumulated, and as father's health has been so indifferent these past years, I decided I would use it and join you here in his stead. How is our aunt?"

"She keeps to her room—Anne's death has been very hard for her."

"I suppose it has been," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "They had been each other's solitary companion for years, after all, and regardless of Lady Catherine's irascibility, Anne _was_ her daughter after all. Once we have finished our tea, we shall visit her directly."

Mr. Darcy nodded. "That is for the best. You may still be in for a tongue lashing because you neglected to visit her immediately upon your arrival, though I doubt that will happen—I suspect she has not been apprised of your visit."

"That is indeed the aunt we all know and love."

Mr. Darcy and the colonel shared a knowing glance, and Elizabeth, knowing the lady as she did, had no doubt of their superior knowledge of their relation. Lady Catherine could indeed be difficult at times, and Elizabeth had no doubt that those of her family would not be spared her sharp tongue or her meddling any more than would impoverished gentlewomen.

The conversation continued apace for the length of their tea, accompanied by the clanking of cutlery and the tinkling of teacups on saucers. Throughout their time in together, Elizabeth observed the colonel and was able to form an opinion of his character in a very short time. He was a warm and jovial man, quick-witted and friendly, and in his mind and manners, he was very different from Mr. Darcy. He was quite intelligent, and though Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy to possess the better informed mind, the colonel was by no means deficient. He was also pleasantly handsome—though Elizabeth privately thought him nothing when compared to Mr. Darcy—and Elizabeth was certain that had Lydia been there, she would have been fawning over him almost from the first moment he walked through the door.

It was after they had all eaten and drank their fill that Elizabeth addressed the colonel:

"Excuse me, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but are you able to stay in this part of the country for long?"

"Some weeks, I should think," answered the colonel. "As I have said, I have several weeks of leave which I intend to use, and I am sure that Darcy could use my assistance here. Especially, perhaps, in the matter of a certain blackguard who has harmed our family one too many times..."

He shared a significant glance with Mr. Darcy, leaving Elizabeth in no doubt of his meaning, before continuing:

"And as for Georgiana, I do not doubt that her presence will be a comfort to us both, so I believe she shall stay for some weeks as well." Mr. Darcy confirmed this with a nod. "And you, Miss Bennet? I understand you shall be in residence for some time?"

Though Elizabeth saw Miss Darcy's countenance darken at the colonel's statement, she ignored the reaction. "I believe we shall, but it truly depends on my sister and her health. Lady Catherine has been kind enough to allow us to stay here during the trying months of her confinement."

"Excellent! I shall be very happy to have the opportunity to know you and your sister better."

"The sentiment is returned, I assure you," said Elizabeth. "Now, if you will excuse me, you need to call upon Lady Catherine, while I should see about adding you all to this evening's meal and informing the housekeeper of your presence so your bedchambers may be prepared."

Twin expressions of surprise appeared upon Miss Darcy and the colonel's faces, and Elizabeth immediately realized her mistake—surely there could have been some other way to inform Mr. Darcy's relations that she was acting as mistress of Rosings in Lady Catherine's stead.

"Miss Bennet is acting as mistress?" said Georgiana Darcy with a gasp. "What of my aunt?"

It was perhaps an inelegant way of asking the question, but the colonel was clearly curious as well. It was Mr. Darcy who responded.

"Yes, she has been acting as such, for Lady Catherine has been incapacitated due to her grief. Since her sister Mary is suffering through difficulties as a result of being with child, Miss Bennet has consented to assist with the running of the house and has been handling the situation masterfully."

Elizabeth was watching Miss Darcy's reaction, and what she saw there was much as she had expected—the girl was clearly unhappy over this new development. Disliking the girl now more than ever, Elizabeth decided that if Miss Darcy made a scene over the situation, she would cede control of the house back to her without a moment's hesitation—let her handle it if she was keen to do so.

It was not a moment later when Georgiana Darcy sniffed with disdain and spoke to her brother:

"I am very certain Miss Bennet has done the best she could under the circumstances, but now that I am here, she shall not have to serve in that capacity any longer. I thank you, Miss Bennet, but I shall be happy to relieve you of that burden."

Elizabeth was about to respond that she was welcome to it when Mr. Darcy, a frown affixed to his face, interjected. "Georgiana, I think you will not need to step in—Miss Bennet truly has the talent and experience, and you, after all, will still be required to devote your time to your studies. Beside that, you have never managed a household before this—I believe Miss Bennet should continue on as she has."

Perhaps the only person in the room who was more surprised than Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy would defend her in such a manner was Georgiana Darcy herself. She covered her surprise, however, and with a hostile glance at Elizabeth—carefully hidden from her brother—she turned her attention back to Mr. Darcy.

"I managed Mr. Bingley's home well enough."

"Dearest, you were not _mistress_ of Netherfield; rather, you acted as Mr. Bingley's _hostess_. Truly, I insist that you focus on your studies and allow Miss Bennet to continue in the capacity for which she has proven herself more than suited. You will have your opportunity one day, but for now, I believe you had best cede that responsibility to another."

It was clear Miss Darcy was not happy with this development, but she ultimately had no choice but to concede. She sniffed and walked from the room, closely followed by her companion.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at the two of them, a frown on his face as though he were puzzling out a mystery. A moment later, he shook his head, and after expressing the pleasure he felt in making Elizabeth's acquaintance, he followed his cousin from the room. Mr. Darcy was about to follow suit when Elizabeth stopped him and asked him for a moment of his time in the library after he had visited his aunt. He was obviously curious as to her motive, but he acquiesced and then quit the room.

Thirty minutes later, after directing the staff to prepare the newcomers' rooms and ordering more places for dinner that evening, Elizabeth was joined in the library by Mr. Darcy. She began by expressing her gratitude.

"Mr. Darcy, I must thank you for defending me from your sister."

"Georgiana?" queried he, a bit of a frown forming upon his face. "I assure you my sister was not attacking you—she just assumed that she should act as mistress as a member of the family."

Elizabeth, who fancied she knew his sister quite well indeed, was not as convinced as he was of her benign intentions, but she was not about to try to point his sister's faults out to the gentleman.

"I believe she has the skills and knowledge to do so," continued Mr. Darcy, "but at the moment, I believe her time is best spent in pursuit of her education. Besides, you have been performing wonderfully, Miss Bennet—I have never seen Rosings run so efficiently as this. I believe you must have a natural talent for it."

Elizabeth colored, at once embarrassed by his approbation while, at the same time, thrilled that he thought so highly of her. She told him as much, to which he responded that such praise was well deserved.

"But that is not the reason why I asked you here, Mr. Darcy," continued Elizabeth. "I am most concerned about Lady Catherine's state, and I thought you should be informed."

"Lady Catherine?" asked Mr. Darcy. "She is grieving, I know—"

"She is, Mr. Darcy, but she is so pale, and she hardly eats any of her meals. She has thinned considerably, and I fear for her health if she continues in this manner."

The expression Mr. Darcy directed back at her could only be termed one of wonderment. "Miss Bennet, I am astonished. My aunt has not treated you well at all, and yet you show such concern for her. I believe I have never seen such charity in a person my entire life."

Once again, Elizabeth felt a blush rising in her cheeks. "I am merely concerned as anyone would be, Mr. Darcy," stammered she.

Perhaps it was a trick of her emotions, which had always been in flux for this man, and perhaps it was merely the proximity in which they stood—for they were indeed standing very close together!—but as Mr. Darcy gazed into her eyes, Elizabeth focused back on his, and she felt drawn inexorably toward him, as though she had little choice in the matter. In her heart, she felt an indescribable feeling well up within her, and though she had once thought this man to be arrogant and conceited beyond all measure, at that moment she thought that perhaps there was much to love in the person of Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Unfortunately, whatever was to happen between them was not to be. The door to the library opened with a thump, and Miss Darcy stood looking at them with horror, causing Elizabeth to jump back, an action which Mr. Darcy mimicked, the embarrassment she felt appearing in a like fashion on his face. Miss Darcy composed herself immediately, and though she feigned nonchalance, Elizabeth could tell the girl was suspicious of them, as she attached herself to her brother for the rest of the evening.

It was at dinner that evening when Mr. Darcy informed the company that Mr. Bingley would soon be arriving and that he would be accompanied by Jane and Kitty. Though Elizabeth was first astounded and then excited by the opportunity to see her sisters again, Georgiana Darcy—who had appeared elated at the news that Mr. Bingley would come—descended into a brooding petulance which would last for the rest of the day thanks to the knowledge that her chief rival would also be in residence. Elizabeth could not summon much pity for the young woman—Elizabeth was certain that what she felt was nothing more than infatuation, and more importantly, the happiness of a most beloved sister was at stake, after all.


	67. Chapter LXVII

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana arrive at Rosings. Elizabeth expresses her concern about Lady Catherine's health to Darcy.

* * *

**Chapter LXVII**

Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly made himself at home. Indeed, he was of such an amiable and easygoing disposition that he could make a foxhole seem quaint and pleasant with little effort. Knowing of the difference between him and his cousin, Darcy was glad for the opportunity to discuss the present circumstances in Kent with him.

Though Darcy had other subjects he wished to discuss, he began by inquiring about his uncle.

"Father is much the same as he has been for a while. Despite his age and poor health, he still manages to boss the servants about quite admirably, though he scarcely leaves home except to go to church or perchance to dine. I do not blame him—were I as old as he and as well-placed, I should do whatever I pleased!"

"And your brother?"

"I believe he is still in Ireland tending to a family estate. Personally, I believe it is for the best that he is gone. His mood has been quite ill lately, and if he keeps it up, I daresay I shall have to think of a new nickname for him. 'Billy Boy' simply does not have the proper ring to it considering his current mood."

"I am certain that you shall find a solution to your problem," said Darcy, who was mildly amused despite himself.

"Perhaps," said his cousin with a shrug. His look then became somber. "Tell me, what exactly was this business with Anne?"

Darcy could not help but release a grimace. The thought of Wickham's dastardly nature and his female cousin's untimely death were enough to bring a foul mood down upon him—and indeed had in the days following the incident. Trying to rein in his anger, he explained the presence of Wickham and the attempted elopement and the subsequent death of Anne due to a carriage accident.

"That blackguard!" said Colonel Fitzwilliam darkly. "I should like to find him rip his limbs to pieces for what he has done."

"Believe me," said Darcy, his voice low and furious, "I have tried to find him to exact my own retribution on him, but he appears to have all but vanished."

"Well, I shall lend you my assistance in finding him. We shall teach him what happens to rakes who dare mess with our family." Colonel Fitzwilliam had tightened his fists, and he looked down at them and allowed them to relax. His gaze targeted Darcy and lost its anger, gaining instead a look of curiosity. "Now, enough of that for now. Tell me, Darcy—what exactly is the situation between you and Miss Bennet? I must admit to being perplexed. You are both taking care of the estate together?"

Darcy turned so that his cousin could not see the slight color on his cheeks. "Our aunt has not been feeling well enough to tend to Rosings, so I have enlisted Miss Bennet's aid."

"And the situation between you?" persisted Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"We are not engaged, if that is what you speak of."

The other man waved a hand. "Yes, yes, but how do you feel about her? Have you turned your attentions away from Miss Baker at last?"

"I have recently begun to reassess my opinion of Miss Baker," said Darcy carefully. "I do not believe I could attain happiness by her side."

"I could have told you that, Darcy," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, giving him a slap on the shoulder. "I have known Miss Baker for quite some time, and I believe she is meant to make some other man happy. Miss Bennet, on the other hand, appears to be a good woman for you, Darcy. She is just the lively type to put a spring in your step."

Darcy began: "Miss Baker does have her good qualities—"

"Yes," cut in his cousin, "but they are not the type a person such as yourself may benefit from. Trust me, Darcy. Miss Bennet is the one whom your eye should watch steadfastly."

The two men continued to speak for a few minutes more before Colonel Fitzwilliam excused himself and left Darcy to his thoughts.

There could be no doubt that the colonel believed Darcy should pursue Miss Bennet. Would Bingley have the same kind of advice? Darcy would be glad to see him and hear what he had to say. A part of him felt that Bingley's thoughts would indeed parallel Colonel Fitzwilliam's.

Darcy turned his thoughts to Elia Baker. He had certainly been surprised to hear Miss Bennet's sharp reprimand to the other woman. Yet though what Miss Bennet had said had been less than polite, the same sentiment had also been afflicting him, so he could not blame her for it. It was not proper for Miss Baker to linger and make the company of Rosings uncomfortable at such a time, and Miss Baker's presence had not comforted him any more than it had the rest of the party. But she was obviously attempting to regain the way things had been between her and him in the past—when he had sought to spent time with her and thought about how she would make a suitable for mistress of Pemberley. Now, he would make a few halfhearted visits, but he was not so certain he wished to be around her, much less marry her.

In fact, he was—ashamed though he was to admit it even to himself—trying to use the excuse of mourning as a way to avoid Miss Baker. Yet she still seemed to keep meeting him on seemingly random occasions, particularly when he was outside. He knew she had not been too keen on facing the outdoors before, so her motives were not exactly opaque. It was especially irritating when she pushed her brother into conversation with Miss Bennet and then bombarded Darcy with seemingly endless chatter. While James Baker did not appear to be in love by any means, it still irked Darcy to see him speaking with Miss Bennet.

Darcy let out a sigh. He would be really glad when he could talk to Bingley. Surely the good-hearted man would help Darcy sort through this mess.


	68. Chapter LXVIII

**A/N:** As always, thanks for the reviews. Soon we'll hit 70 chapters—we expect this to conclude somewhere at around 90 chapters, so we are definitely getting there!

**Previously:** Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam speak. The colonel agrees that Darcy is not suited well with Elia Baker

* * *

**Chapter LXVIII**

Rosings, reflected Georgiana Darcy, would have been much more enjoyable without the hordes of Bennet sisters who had invaded it.

After all, could they not have returned to their homes and left her family in peace? Well, left her family alone except for the presence of a certain young gentleman she hoped would soon be persuaded to become part of the family...

Mr. Bingley had arrived with two more of the Bennet sisters, and though Georgiana did not wish to see the young ladies, she had been ecstatic to see him, a fact which she was not hesitant in showing him. Unfortunately, however, though Mr. Bingley had greeted her with civility, she found herself disappointed in their meeting, as he had immediately turned his attention back to Jane Bennet, as though he had not seen _her _in weeks. To be certain, the lady was beautiful, but she had no accomplishments, was virtually talentless, and appeared to have very few deep emotions, if her perpetually serene countenance was any indication.

In truth, Georgiana did not truly think ill of the Bennets—they were a pleasant and genteel sort of people, and under other circumstances, Georgiana thought she could be persuaded to count them among her friends. But with Jane Bennet attempting to insert her claws into _Georgiana's_ Mr. Bingley, she found that she could not be sanguine about the entire family. And even if Miss Elizabeth was lively and intelligent, Georgiana could not help but think she was shamelessly attempting ingratiate herself with Georgiana's brother. It simply would not do. Her brother was the scion of one of the oldest families in the kingdom and could have his pick of almost any woman. He was meant for someone better than a fortune hunter from the kingdom's hinterlands.

When they sat down at dinner that evening, Georgiana was displeased—but not unsurprised, considering Elizabeth was acting as mistress—that Jane Bennet was seated beside Mr. Bingley. However, by some strange quirk of fate—or perhaps due to Miss Bennet's desire to isolate Georgiana—she found herself seated to the right of Jane, who in turn was seated to Mr. Bingley's right. Thus, Georgiana had no opportunity in such an arrangement to speak to Mr. Bingley.

Fuming, Georgiana ate her dinner largely in silence, listening carefully to every word which was spoken between the young man and the fortune hunter. And what she heard did not give her much pleasure either—they spoke with one another with great animation and laughed with abandon. It was clear that Miss Jane had not been idle while she had been in Mr. Bingley's company in London.

Finally, however, Georgiana could take it no longer. In a fit of pique, she took the opportunity to reach for a salt shaker, and in the process, intentionally brushed her arm against Jane's wine goblet, sending the sparkling liquid cascading out of the capsized goblet and directly into Jane Bennet's lap.

The woman jumped up and pressed a cloth against her middle, immediately sopping up the liquid before it could spread and stain her gown.

"Oh, I do apologize," said Georgiana, wary of Miss Bennet's eyes upon her (the infernally perceptive woman clearly suspected her of having something more than a mere accident). She made more of the appropriate platitudes about being sorry for being so clumsy.

Jane Bennet, however, merely waved her off. "It is no trouble, Miss Darcy. It could happen to anyone."

Privately, Georgiana felt smug and pleased with herself; after all, the woman would have to leave the table. Unfortunately, however, her enjoyment of the event was soon dimmed by two events.

The first event involved the object of Georgiana's affections. Mr. Bingley jumped to his feet and fussed over Miss Jane, escorting her from the room to immediately change and thereby removing himself from Georgiana's company. The second event involved the voice of her aunt, who had joined them for dinner that evening, though apparently that had been an infrequent occurrence of late.

"Georgiana Darcy!" snapped Lady Catherine. "Watch what you are doing! You are a Darcy with the highest manners and grace, not some inconsequential and clumsy girl. My Anne would never have knocked a wine glass over in such a manner."

Her cheeks flaming, Georgiana mumbled an apology, but she may as well have said nothing—the reminder of her daughter induced Lady Catherine to silence, and the meal continued quietly.

A short time later, Jane Bennet—along with Mr. Bingley—returned to the table, having changed into a fresh dress. Though she was still angry with the woman, propriety demanded Georgiana ask after the woman, and so she did so.

Jane Bennet, in that infuriatingly calm tone of hers, responded: "Yes, I thank you. I daresay I caught the worst of it in time—I doubt it shall even stain."

"I am glad to hear it," said Georgiana politely. Inside, she was seething. Would that it had been red wine instead of white!

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully, and soon after, the party was ensconced in the drawing room. Not very many moments had passed when Lady Catherine, who had been quiet since their arrival, shook herself from her stupor and addressed Georgiana.

"Georgiana, I must have some music," said she, managing to inject some imperiousness into her tone. "You will play for me now. And none of your somber, ponderous anthems—something cheery, if you please. Perhaps Mozart will do."

_This_ was a manner in which Georgiana could excel—playing the pianoforte was a talent which she knew Jane Bennet did not possess.

"Of course, aunt," responded she, dutifully rising and making her way to the pianoforte. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Mr. Bingley and saw that he was engrossed in his conversation with Jane Bennet. Georgiana was determined that that would soon change.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," continued Lady Catherine. "You will attend my niece and turn the pages for her."

The young woman appeared to be as startled as Georgiana was herself. But as she knew her aunt and her aunt's moods, Georgiana was aware that arguing would be fruitless, and she sat down at the pianoforte and began rummaging through the available sheet music. Miss Bennet apparently came to the same conclusion, for she quickly said something to Georgiana's brother and cousin and then joined her at the pianoforte. Georgiana was by no means agreeable to sitting so close to the woman, but she suffered it in silence and began to play.

_This_ was how she would conduct her campaign, she thought as she played. Jane Bennet had so few accomplishments that Mr. Bingley must surely see that he would waste himself upon her if he continued to show her his favor. She must not lose to that Bennet woman! She must prevail!

She had played through several songs—none of which attracted the attention of her quarry, to her great disgust—when Miss Bennet, in a tone more than usually insolent, spoke to Lady Catherine:

"Lady Catherine, your niece has played through several pieces now. Perhaps she should be given a period to rest. My sister Kitty plays very well indeed and would be pleased to oblige us."

"Oh, yes," interjected Mr. Darcy. "I have heard her play when I was in Hertfordshire, and she plays most delightfully. Can we prevail upon you, Miss Catherine?"

Georgiana could not believe her ears. The _blind_ girl could play? Smirking to herself, she demurely removed herself from the pianoforte, eager to see the woman make a fool of herself.

But that was not to be. The moment Miss Catherine began to play, Georgiana could tell that she was at least as competent as Georgiana herself. Was there nothing which would show these Bennets to be the pretenders they were?

So the evening continued, and by the end of it, Georgiana found that she had been struck by a most severe headache. She pleaded fatigue and bid the party an early good night. But she vowed in her heart that she would not be defeated. She, Georgiana Darcy, would prevail!


	69. Chapter LXIX

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Georgiana fails to capture Mr. Bingley's attention as she wishes to, but she determines that she will somehow prevail.

* * *

**Chapter LXIX**

Colonel Fitzwilliam was generally a merry sort of fellow.

Unless the insult was great or the act heinous—as was the case with Wickham's treatment of Lady Catherine's daughter, which was utterly unforgivable—Colonel Fitzwilliam was one to let bygones be bygones. He disliked to dwell on the past and preferred to remain happily ensconced in the present. However, there was one exception to this, one piece of the past he would never be able to forget. Unfortunately, it was one that continued to cause him pain.

As a boy, Fitzwilliam had stayed at Rosings more often than his older brother—or even Darcy—had. Fitzwilliam had enjoyed the opportunity to escape the frequently stern gaze of his father, which Kent enabled him to do. Furthermore, Fitzwilliam had been close to Sir Lewis, who had viewed him almost as the son he never had. They had been able to speak in a way that Fitzwilliam had never achieved with his father.

As a result of this close connection, there had been some talk of making Fitzwilliam the heir to Rosings. Sir Lewis had seen the ill health of his daughter and believed she would never even make it to fifteen. He certainly would have never believed she would have outlived him. Lady Catherine, however, though she had ordered Anne around and seen fastidiously to every aspect of the girl's daily life, refused to believe that Anne's health would lead to her death, and she had argued against the notion of making Fitzwilliam heir. She had noted that the Fitzwilliams were only Sir Lewis's relations by marriage and were therefore not actually family, and she had proclaimed quite vehemently that Anne would live long and marry Fitzwilliam Darcy, thereby uniting the great estates of Rosings and Pemberley. This was a view she simply would not be divested of, and there had been quite a ruckus at Rosings.

Though Lady Catherine won the fight, Sir Lewis was rather angry for a great deal of time afterward, and only he and Lady Catherine knew what words passed between them. With the state of Anne's health, Sir Lewis could not have been blamed for his concern as to whom would inherit the estate. Still, there were few who could succeed at winning an argument with Lady Catherine.

At the time, the idea of being heir to an estate (as his older brother was) had held little appeal for Fitzwilliam, though in hindsight he realized it would have been very fortunate indeed to be more stationary than the regulars allowed. Yet despite the fact that he would not be inheriting Rosings, there had been something that tied him irrevocably to Kent even after Sir Lewis's death. That something was Elia Baker.

He had first met Miss Baker when they were both quite young. He still remembered fondly the first time they had met. He had been riding his new pony out in the field (his riding instructor, after a long struggle, rarely required Fitzwilliam to ride accompanied any more), and she had been kneeling on the ground and gathering flowers. He had smirked a little at her, thinking the act very befitting of a girl, but she had looked up at him and told him in a matter-of-fact tone (with a slight grimace): "I am only picking flowers because my mother is forcing me to. I would much rather be doing something else—maybe even riding a horse, which I have not yet done." He had been intrigued, and they had become close friends rather quickly after that. He had even seen to it that she be allowed to ride a horse.

As they grew older, Miss Baker had become less rebellious and had become every bit the growing woman. Fitzwilliam, who cared for her heart more than for her beauty, developed strong feelings for her, and before leaving to join the military, he had told her: "One day, I promise I will return and marry you." He had meant every word, and he still felt them resonating within his breast.

She had given him a sad smile—had she known even then that it was not to be?—and he had embraced her, throwing all propriety to the wind. As they had said farewell with voices that shook and eyes that were not quite dry, he had found himself wishing very much he would inherit an estate as his brother would, for then he would not be required to join the military in an attempt to make his way in the world.

A few years passed before he was able to return to Kent, and when he did, he found with despair that Miss Baker had changed. Gone was the great friend with whom he could have lively and intelligent conversations, and in her place was a woman who appeared to be all beauty and frivolity, with little substance. He did not know for certain, but he suspected her mother—coming from the family of a duke, as she did—had influenced her to value status and wealth over love. And of course, he had neither wealth nor status to speak of. Still, he had hoped, and he had resolved to continue as he had planned.

But he had scarcely been able to touch upon the subject of his old promise when Miss Baker told him: "I shall not marry you. Let us talk of it no longer." And then she had begun to talk airily of some inconsequential subject, seemingly not realizing the harsh blow she had just given.

To say he had felt crushed would have been to put it lightly. Though he had tried to enjoy his time with the regulars, he had never been able to forget that promise he had made, only to find out he would be unable to keep it. He had tried to push aside his pain, but it still lingered. Her rejection did nothing to quench the fires of his feelings for her. If anything, he felt certain he valued her more.

After speaking with Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam had finally ascertained that his cousin was not truly interested in Miss Baker. And if Darcy was not to marry her, then perhaps there was still a chance that Fitzwilliam could convince her that he was still in love with her—and that she should marry him.

But Fitzwilliam could not make his move until the break between Darcy and Miss Baker became clear enough to Darcy. Fitzwilliam knew that Darcy held the idea of duty highly, but he hoped Darcy would truly be able to see that Miss Bennet was much more suited to him.

After all, Miss Baker was _Colonel Fitzwilliam's _true love, not Darcy's. At least, he had been true to her, even if she had not wished to be true to him.


	70. Chapter LXX

**A/N:** Thanks for all the reviews!

**Previously:** Colonel Fitzwilliam thinks about his past, specifically with respect to his history with Elia Baker. He is determined to win her back.

* * *

**Chapter LXX**

A few days after the arrival of the new additions to the party at Rosings Park, James and Elia Baker stopped in for a morning visit and an introduction to the new arrivals.

James Baker looked upon the prospect of meeting these new arrivals with a certain amount of boredom, and he would likely not have agreed to the excursion at all had he not derived a certain sardonic amusement from his sister's antics.

Simply put, Elia was a huntress, and her quarry—to the surprise of no one who saw her in action—was none other than Mr. Darcy. But whereas she attempted subtlety, to one who knew her as well as Baker fancied he knew her, she was as transparent as the glass window in his bedchamber.

She had not always been this way and indeed was very different from her brother. Their mother _had_ been the daughter of a duke, and though she had married Baker's father, the arrangement had been considered to be somewhat beneath her. It had helped that old Mr. Baker's estate in Kent was extensive and that he had been active enough politically to have made a name for himself. Still, the connection would not likely have been tolerated had Elia and James's mother been able to attract a suitor who was nearer her own station.

Simply put, Baker's mother had been a shrew, and even her fortune of forty thousand pounds had been insufficient to attract a suitor willing to put up with her character in exchange for her money. At least, no suitor until his father had come along.

Mr. David Baker was a good man, and his son had fond memories of him. However, David Baker found himself in dire financial straits after inheriting Stauneton Hall from his elder brother. His brother had virtually bankrupted the estate through his gambling and debaucheries before finally killing himself in an accident while racing his curricle through the pathways of the estate. Thus, for David, the fact that a woman with the dowry possessed by Emma Blascombe had remained unmarried at the age of three and twenty had been a godsend for his financial needs, if not his emotional ones.

They had married after a brief courtship—which according to his father had largely consisted of convincing her father to allow her to condescend to marry him, after which he put her dowry to good use in restoring the estate to respectable profitability.

Unfortunately, he could not boast an equal felicity with the person of his wife as that which he had with her fortune. Emma remained a proud and snobbish woman—even to her husband—and given David's feelings toward his wife later in his life, Baker was surprised he had even managed to father two children with her at all. From what he remembered of his parents, his father had spent no more than a few moments in her company a day—less if he could avoid it.

Baker recalled that Elia had been happy and carefree as a child, unpretentious and kind to all, due in large part to the fact that David had utterly refused to allow his wife to teach their children to be overly prideful of their situation.

Unfortunately, that had all changed. As Elia had reached her teenage years, her father's health had taken a turn for the worse, allowing her mother to be much more involved with her life. It was then that this creature who valued money and status had been born, much to Baker's chagrin. He had truly enjoyed Elia's company as a child, and he was saddened at her change in character.

As for Baker himself, he knew that he possessed a bit of a cavalier attitude. He had had several liaisons with certain lonely widows—whom he was most happy to provide companionship for, he thought with a smirk—though he was always discreet. When he was in town, he had been known to frequent certain… less than reputable establishments, though he was careful to keep this fact from his sister and any of his acquaintance. And in general, he possessed a playful and pleasing disposition and delighted in flirting with any young lady with whom he came in contact. He possessed the manners to make himself agreeable with those of the fairer sex, and he was not hesitant to use them.

But he was not a complete libertine—he was well aware of the strictures placed on gently born young women of his society, and though he might flirt and smile at young women of his acquaintance, he would never stoop to seducing or ruining them.

Such was the case with Elizabeth Bennet. She was an intriguing woman to be certain, and Baker truly enjoyed their conversations, but she was not much more than that to him. It was not that he did not consider her to be an exceptional woman—certainly not! It was more the fact that he recognized how he himself would not suit her in any manner and how she needed someone a little more serious to balance her tendencies toward playfulness. Baker needed someone he could take care of, and Miss Bennet was a little too independent for his tastes. _And_ of course, she was very intelligent and could likely speak circles around him if she so chose. In fact, she was almost perfect for Darcy, who showed every sign of being completely enamored of her.

That being said, a casual observer might have wondered why he had allowed himself to be influenced by his sister into showing an interest in Miss Bennet. His reasons were simple. He enjoyed tweaking Darcy's nose—and had been rewarded with the man's scowls and frowns—not to mention the fact that leading his sister on, only to pull the rug out from under her when he no longer felt like playing her game, was almost as enjoyable. Perhaps this was beneath him, but Baker had long ago decided, somewhat philosophically, that one must take amusement and pleasure where one could.

Upon entering the sitting room at Rosings, Baker and his sister found themselves being introduced to two of Miss Bennet's younger sisters. The elder, Miss Jane, was beautiful and well-mannered, and had that Bingley fellow not been hovering around her, Baker would have thought her the perfect young lady for him to exert his protective instinct upon. The younger sister's response was somewhat playful, indicating a personality similar to her eldest sister's.

The tea arrived, and the group began making light conversation. It was then that Elia spouted off with one of her nonsensical little observances:

"It is truly good to make new acquaintances," said she in her usually flighty manner. "A new acquaintance is so very novel, and I do like having new experiences."

Baker almost snorted at his sister's comment. He knew that she was not as insipid as she often made herself out to be, and he suspected she did it to attract Darcy's attention and provoke his protective instinct.

The amused smile of the youngest Miss Bennet caught Baker's eye, and he watched as she responded to his sister.

"A new acquaintance being new," murmured she, smiling slightly behind her teacup. "You truly have a gift with words, Miss Baker—I do not believe I have ever heard the situation being referred to in such a manner."

"I thank you, Miss Catherine," simpered Elia. "I do try to infuse my conversation with a little extra interest—after all, the same words spoken over and over again would become very dull."

"And I am sure you succeed, Miss Baker," said Miss Catherine, before turning to her sister and beginning to speak with her.

Baker grinned into his hand, trying to cover his amusement with a cough. He was certain Miss Catherine had seen through his sister's attempt at subterfuge and was amused by her artfulness.

The conversation continued for some time, and though the conversation partners were somewhat fluid, Baker felt himself being quite entertained by the company. Elia attempted to secure Darcy's attention and company with the use of several pointed hints and comments, but Darcy appeared to be more interested in Miss Bennet's lively and interesting conversation. Mrs. Collins was largely silent as was her wont, while Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet hardly had any attention to spare for anyone else in the room. The Colonel was busily engaged in speaking with all equally, but his eyes often strayed to Elia—and Baker, knowing what had passed between them, pitied him. Finally, Georgiana Darcy spent her time brooding, alternating between scowling at Miss Jane and Bingley and directing sour looks at the attention her brother was showing to Miss Elizabeth. There was certainly enough going on in the room to satisfy even the most proletarian studier of character.

More and more, though, Baker found his attention caught by the youngest Bennet sister. Baker was somewhat of a vain creature—he was often wont to laugh at himself because of his vanity. It _was_ true, however, that he was a handsome man, a fact which he had used many times in the past in his pursuit of the society of interesting and attractive women.

Miss Catherine Bennet, however, was not reacting in the manner in which he had become accustomed. In short, she seemed to be little affected by his presence. It was intriguing.

As more of his attention was captured by her, he found himself watching her and ruminating over her attractions. She was a pretty girl, though a little more diminutive than he would normally have been attracted to, and possessed a pleasing and womanly figure. Her face, though perhaps not technically beautiful, was handsome enough to catch many an eye, he thought, and her playfulness was pleasing. She was, he decided, much like her sister Elizabeth, though perhaps she was not as overt as Miss Bennet was wont to be in her manners and ability to put others at ease.

A chance remark of Baker's caught her attention, and he saw her face turn in his direction. He was puzzled for a moment, for though he could tell her attention was upon him, her eyes were peering past him.

"Mary, I do believe I would like to converse with Mr. Baker a little. Would you be so kind as to guide me to him?"

Amazed, Baker watched as she stood and, clutching Mrs. Collins's arm, carefully made her way across the room and was soon seated by his side. It was at this moment that it hit him—Miss Catherine was blind!

Immediately, Baker castigated himself as the stupidest creature on the face of the earth. Of course she was blind—she had never looked directly at him, her eyes had had a tendency to wander, and her hearing was acute enough for her to have heard him speak, though he had not spoken loudly and not in her direction.

As she sat, Miss Catherine directed an impish smile at him. "I must admit, Mr. Baker, I am intrigued by your meaning. Did you mean to say that England should not be involved with the war against Napoleon, or were you trying to make some other point?"

Dumbfounded, Baker had to think back to what he said, feeling immensely stupid that this slip of a girl was able to discomfit him so completely. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the conversation and, remembering what he had said, focused his attention back on his companion.

"No, indeed, Miss Catherine," responded he. "I merely stated that perhaps England is assuming a disproportionate level of responsibility for the prosecution of the war and that the other nations had best commit themselves more fully so we may see the tyrant's defeat more quickly."

"As an active soldier in His Majesty's army, I cannot disagree," spoke Colonel Fitzwilliam from the side. Baker turned to face him and noticed the sly smile on his face as he regarded Miss Catherine sitting by his side. "What say you, Miss Catherine?"

Miss Catherine nodded sagely. "Though I cannot pretend to possess an equal understanding as to the state of our army against the despot, I do believe that Mr. Baker's position is one with which I can only agree. In particular, I believe the Russians are not fully cognizant of the threat he poses and are content to sit in their vast steppes and allow others to deal with him."

"I did not know you possessed the soul of a campaigner, Miss Catherine," said Colonel Fitzwilliam with a laugh. "I see I must take care in your presence and not allow my general to meet you. He may find me dispensable after all!"

Miss Catherine's tinkling laughter enchanted Baker, and he found himself completely captivated by her manner. For several moments, he was unable to say anything—he merely watched her and listened to her conversation as she spoke with the Colonel until he was called away by his cousin.

Seeming to sense his state, Miss Catherine leaned closer and spoke in a conspiratorial manner: "Do not worry, Mr. Baker. Your reaction is rather common."

"Reaction?" asked Baker.

"To my blindness. It is quite a common occurrence."

Chagrined, Baker attempted to apologize. "I am sorry, Miss Catherine—I did not realize I was being so obvious."

"It matters little. And you were not obvious; I am just accustomed to others' reactions. I am not offended."

"If you do not mind my asking, were you born without the power of sight?"

"I was not," replied she. "A sickness as a child robbed me of the use of my eyes. I have become accustomed to the loss, though, and am quite content. My sisters often read to me and guide me when I walk, and I still take pleasure in many things."

Her smile turned impish, and Baker found his heart fluttering in response and his protective instincts aroused. "I can even dance, Mr. Baker."

"Truly? Is it not very difficult without the power of sight?"

"As long as I have a partner who can be trusted to guide me properly, my sisters have taught me so well that I can complete the steps with very little wandering."

Their conversation continued for the rest of the visit, and Baker found himself intrigued with this young woman. It was not long before he could tell the similarities between Miss Catherine and Miss Bennet, but whereas the elder sister could be somewhat intimidating in her intelligence at times, the younger was much more apt to make her companion feel comfortable. By the end of their visit, Baker found himself wanting to know her much better indeed.


	71. Chapter LXXI

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** James Baker appears to be genuinely interested in Kitty, who appears to find him a pleasant enough conversation partner.

* * *

**Chapter LXXI**

Though Bingley was, to be sure, reluctant to leave the presence of Jane Bennet for any extended period of time, he was willing—on occasion—to partake in some activity from which she was excluded. One such activity was going on a morning ride with Darcy.

After their first morning ride together in quite a while, the two men retired to the library instead of seeking out company of a female persuasion. The ride had been quiet and serene, filled with dew and mist and the clopping of hooves and not much else. Darcy had been brooding the whole time, and Bingley himself had been considering his friend quite carefully. After seeing Darcy interact with Miss Baker and with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Bingley thought he knew where the situation _should_ stand, yet he needed to learn more. He had to hear Darcy vocalize some of his feelings before he would know how best to be of assistance.

Once they had been comfortably situated in the library, it felt as if a chasm of silence were between them. Bingley resolved to be the first to bridge it.

"Would you like my advice, Darcy?"

Darcy looked somewhat startled. He had obviously not expected his friend to be so forthright. But Bingley had never been one for circumlocution (certainly, he had never been skilled at it), and though he usually tried to not be so blunt, he had been forced to do quite a bit of thinking lately, and he had become convinced that matters of the heart were not to be delayed for _too _long. One should not dive right in, yet neither should one wait for the seasons to go through their fluctuations several times before making at least a few small steps. He had made steps to show Jane Bennet how dear she was to him, and though they were not yet engaged, he felt certain she was beginning to understand the depths of his love for her. And that was what was most important.

Darcy, once he had regained his mental footing, finally replied: "I should indeed like to hear what you think, provided that you are willing to tell me."

"Just to be clear, we are talking about Miss Baker and Miss Elizabeth Bennet." Though Bingley knew his friend to be astute, he felt that needed to be clarified. Misunderstandings in a conversation such as this could be very detrimental indeed.

"Yes," acknowledged Darcy, looking more hesitant and unsure than Bingley had ever seen him. "I feel as if I know what I want to do about my... situation, yet I do not know if I should."

Bingley began to speak without really thinking: "Darcy, I have seen you with both women, and—" He cut himself off and began again: "Tell me, Darcy, what are your feelings for both women?"

Darcy paused for a few seconds to gather his thoughts, and then he responded with careful slowness: "Before meeting Miss Bennet, I felt certain that Miss Baker was the woman I would marry. Though I felt in some ways that my duty called for it, I knew that I could not form an alliance with my cousin, as we were incompatible. By marrying someone in Miss Baker's position, however, I felt as if I could still be meeting my duties as master of Pemberley."

"You speak of duty, Darcy, but I spoke of feelings."

Darcy gave a slight smile, and Bingley suspected he was marveling over the changes that had been wrought since Bingley had so foolishly abandoned Jane Bennet and departed for London. Certainly, it was strange for Darcy now to be seeking Bingley's advice rather than the other way around. But now they were on a more equal footing in their friendship, and Bingley was glad.

"So you did, Bingley. I felt amused by her less than... shining intelligence. I felt as if that amusement would be a good counter to my usual sobriety."

"And Miss Bennet?" prompted Bingley.

"Miss Bennet makes me feel so many things at once. The amusement she engenders at times is of a lighter variety than that which Miss Baker causes me. With Miss Bennet, I feel frustrated yet intrigued, off-balanced yet awed. Her wit is too quick to allow me to be still enough to fall into somberness and utter taciturnity. With her, I can feel genuinely happy—yet I also feel so fearful." Darcy colored a little, perhaps out of embarrassment for letting so much of his heart show. "She... confuses me, Bingley."

It was all Bingley could do to keep from bursting out: "You are in love, Darcy!" Instead, Bingley told his friend: "If you marry Miss Baker, Darcy, then you are a fool. Nothing can replace a loving relationship in a marriage. Money and status cannot act as substitutes. If you cannot respect your wife, you shall never be happy. Miss Elizabeth Bennet may not have much of a dowry to speak of, yet she _is_ the daughter of a gentleman. With that, you can be content."

Darcy gave him half a smile. "And are you content, Bingley?"

"Come now, man!" cried Bingley. "I have my own Bennet daughter to spend time with. She is the loveliest and kindest woman in England. How could I be anything but happy?"

"Mr. Bennet did appear to somehow instill great virtue in his eldest daughters. Bingley, I must congratulate you with regard to your relationship with Miss Jane Bennet. I must say that you have evinced a very un-Bingley-like patience in not asking her to marry you."

Bingley laughed. "It is indeed out of character, I shall admit! But I have wished to show her my genuine admiration—and solidify the grounds of our relationship. Perhaps you should do a little of that yourself!" And here, he gave Darcy a pat on the shoulder.

A few minutes later, Bingley began to leave the library, hoping that he had succeeded in swaying his friend. When he looked back at Darcy one last time, he noticed that the man appeared thoughtful, and that gave him hope.


	72. Chapter LXXII

**A/N:** Thanks once again to everyone for taking the time to to read our little tale.

**Previously:** Bingley advises Darcy to marry for love.

* * *

**Chapter LXXII**

The next days passed in true pleasure for Elizabeth, for not only had she been joined by her beloved sisters—thereby making the situation at Rosings much more tolerable—but she was also able to see for herself the manner in which Jane's relationship with Mr. Bingley had developed.

In short, it was clear to all in the house that Jane and Mr. Bingley had eyes only for one another. Elizabeth was certain that Mr. Bingley would relieve their suspense any day now and propose marriage, and then Jane would have her heart's desire. And deservedly so!

Thus, Elizabeth had no qualms whatsoever in doing her own small part in facilitating their relationship. She sat them together at dinner, watching as they spoke together in low voices, while ignoring the rest of the group. She encouraged them to walk together, ensured they had ample opportunity to converse when in company by intercepting those who would interrupt, and, in general, encouraged their gentle affections for each other. Not that they truly required her assistance in _that_ matter.

Of course, not everyone in the house was as happy as Elizabeth over the developments in her sister's relationship with her handsome suitor. It was not precisely ladylike—not to mention being slightly unkind—but Elizabeth took a certain level of pleasure watching Miss Darcy's displeasure over the situation. Thus far, the young lady had done little to show her displeasure other than to glower at Jane whenever they inhabited the same room and attempt to display herself to greatest advantage to Mr. Bingley. That Mr. Bingley was completely oblivious to her efforts was eminently satisfying to Elizabeth, and at times, she almost found herself laughing at the girl's ineffectual posturing.

What surprised Elizabeth was how Mr. Darcy appeared to be completely ignorant of the girl's feelings and machinations. Though he peered at his sister from time to time, likely wondering about her behavior, he appeared to come to not conclusions as to the true state of matters. Elizabeth wondered at his blindness.

As for the other members of the party, she suspected the Colonel had some idea of Georgiana's partiality, but as the young girl was careful to keep her actions toward Jane and Mr. Bingley confined to those times when neither of her guardians were close by, it seemed as if he was content to let the girl alone in her infatuation. Of the rest of the Bennet sisters, Jane was too focused on Mr. Bingley to notice; Mary was too wrapped up in her own problems; and Kitty, though Elizabeth suspected she had divined the nature of Georgiana's actions, said nothing. And Lady Catherine was in company far too little to have formed a conclusion—likely a good thing, suspected Elizabeth, as the lady would likely find Mr. Bingley a completely improper match for her niece.

One evening after dinner, the company gathered together in the sitting room. Mary had been prevailed upon to play for the company, being both well enough and willing, which had not been the case to any degree of late. Elizabeth was most concerned about her sister, as Mary, though the worst of her symptoms appeared to have passed, was still gripped by a crippling melancholy, and Elizabeth did not know what to do to bring her out of it. Elizabeth knew that Mary, though she had certain held some esteem for Mr. Collins, had _not_ truly loved him—as she had confessed to Elizabeth some weeks previously—but she was now facing the prospect of living her life without a partner, for she felt it unlikely she would ever marry again. Elizabeth did her best to cheer her sister, but privately she wondered about the futures of _all_ the Bennet sisters. Jane, at least, appeared to be well on her way toward matrimony with Mr. Bingley, but though their futures were now secure at Longbourn, Elizabeth wondered if the marriage of two of the five Bennet daughters was fortunate. Could the rest of them truly expect to find partners with nothing more than themselves to garner the interest of a man? Elizabeth had no answers.

But as she was not made for melancholy, Elizabeth took her turn at the pianoforte after Mary had finished, taking great care to play only light and airy pieces before turning the pianoforte over to Georgiana and taking her seat near Mr. Darcy.

As had now become their wont most evenings in company, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy fell into conversation, their topics ranging from the state of the household, to Lady Catherine, and to the territory of literature and current events—in short, topics which interested them both and had been mainstays in their discussions while they had been in London and since they had been in Kent together.

"And how is her ladyship?" asked Darcy, once they had dispensed with their pleasantries.

"Much the same, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth. "She is still heavily mourning Miss de Bourgh and takes scant interest in what is happening outside her bedchamber doors. At least I have been successful in inducing her to eat a little more."

Mr. Darcy nodded sagely. "That is something at least. I must admit, however, I wonder how you occupy yourself in her chambers every day—why, you must spend above an hour daily sitting with her!"

Blushing slightly, Elizabeth responded: "I merely provide a sympathetic ear, Mr. Darcy. We sometimes talk of inconsequential things, and I will tell her of the running of the house, but she takes little interest in that subject. For the most part, she wishes to talk of her daughter, and I listen to her stories of Miss de Bourgh's youth, the hopes she had had for the future, and her desolation that her only child is now gone."

"That cannot be pleasant, Miss Bennet. I commend you for your diligence and forbearance. After all, I am aware of Lady Catherine and Anne's treatment of you, and I am sensible of the fact that you must not enjoy the time you spend with my aunt."

"No, indeed, Mr. Darcy. I am happy to help—and I believe it gives Lady Catherine a chance to put her tragedy behind her and heal to a certain extent. She has not been unpleasant to me in the slightest."

"Miss Bennet," said Mr. Darcy, fixing a stern look upon her, "I will not allow you to deflect this praise in any way. I am very sensible of the effect you have had on my poor aunt and can only express my thanks for your assistance. Indeed, we are all very grateful to you, not only for this, but also for taking over and managing Rosings during my aunt's incapacity. Indeed, the housekeeper tells me that she has never seen Rosings house managed so skillfully, even by my aunt, who has managed it for almost three decades. Please accept my thanks."

Elizabeth was embarrassed—terribly embarrassed—but she was sensible of the compliment this man was paying to her, and she was very conscious of the butterflies fluttering in her midsection at his words and the way he was regarding her with his characteristic intense expression. She found that it was quite beyond her to do anything other than blush and shyly accept his compliments, stating to him that she was quite happy to help.

Not being able to say much more to him due to her acute embarrassment, Elizabeth soon moved away from Mr. Darcy and ensconced herself next to Jane, who had been left alone for a moment by Mr. Bingley, who was now conversing with Mr. Darcy. Smiling at her sister, Elizabeth sat down next to her.

"Where is your excellent Mr. Bingley, Jane?" asked Elizabeth with a teasing smile.

Jane blushed. "He is not _my_ Mr. Bingley, Lizzy," was Jane's quiet response.

"Oh, I think he is, Jane. And I am very happy for you."

Though she still demurred, Elizabeth could tell that Jane was as happy as she had ever seen her. Truly, she doubted that it would be long before the man asked Jane to marry him. Indeed, given his obviously besotted state, Elizabeth was surprised that Mr. Bingley had not already proposed.

At that moment, Georgiana Darcy, having played several pieces, rose from the pianoforte and, walking past Jane and Elizabeth, directed a barbed statement at Jane:

"Shall you not take your turn, Miss Jane?" She then feigned remembrance and peered at Jane with a condescending air. "Oh, my—I had completely forgotten that playing was an accomplishment which you _do not possess_."

Though Jane could not have been insensible of the insult, she merely smiled and responded in her calm and placid manner: "Indeed, you are correct, Miss Darcy. Although I love to sing and listen to my sisters' playing, I have never felt the inclination to learn the instrument myself."

"Jane does not play, but I shall oblige the company," interjected Kitty, and she moved to the pianoforte with Mary's assistance.

Georgiana, however, did not appear disposed to allow the matter to drop—she gazed at the Bennet sisters with a curled lip of contempt before directing her attention back at Jane.

"It must be very difficult indeed to have virtually no accomplishments of a gently bred woman, Miss Jane. Perhaps your education was deficient—or perhaps I should say that it appears to have been nonexistent."

"Miss Darcy," said Elizabeth, her voice firm with disapproval. "I suggest that you keep your tongue in check if you have nothing good to say. My sister is the sweetest, dearest woman in the world, and you are nothing more than a spoiled girl. Be silent!"

Unfortunately, Elizabeth had not been precisely circumspect in her denunciation—the rising timbre of her voice had been clearly audible to the rest of the occupants of the room. Mr. Darcy, particularly, gazed at Elizabeth with an affronted—and betrayed—air.

"Why are you speaking to my sister in such a manner, Miss Bennet?" asked he.

"She attacked me when I merely asked after her sister, Fitzwilliam," said Georgiana, false tears of shame falling from her eyes. "They were both unkind to me."

Mr. Darcy put his arm around his sister's shoulder in comfort and glared at Elizabeth. "What have you to say for yourself, Miss Bennet? After all the hospitality this family has shown you, I cannot believe that you would behave in such a manner."

"Darcy, perhaps you should hear all sides of the story before you pronounce judgment," interjected Mr. Bingley. "There must be an understanding between the young ladies. Miss Jane would never attack your sister for no reason at all."

Mr. Darcy appeared to consider Mr. Bingley's words for several moments. But Elizabeth, not willing to allow this to become an argument, relented.

"I am willing to apologize to Miss Darcy for my words, but only if she shall offer the same to my sister and me."

"And why should I apologize to _you?_" demanded Miss Darcy.

"If it was not all a misunderstanding, should we not all share the blame?"

"There will be no sharing of blame," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was staring at Georgiana through narrowed eyes. "Though I do not know the whole of the conversation, I do know that Georgiana was being rude to Miss Jane—I believe _she_ should be the one to apologize. Do not reprimand Miss Bennet for this, Darcy."

Though he was still somewhat bewildered over the turn of events, Mr. Darcy directed his stern gaze at Georgiana, demanding to know if she was at fault. Whatever Georgiana Darcy was, she was obviously somewhat awed by her brother, and within moments of his question, she had broken down into tears, admitting that she was the one to blame for the altercation. Elizabeth was soon the recipient of a second apology from the young girl, and though she was still somewhat offended for her sister, Elizabeth could only feel sorry for Georgiana.

Miss Darcy left soon after her forced apology, and while Mr. Darcy pressed Elizabeth for an account of exactly what had occurred, Elizabeth was resolute in stating that some words had been exchanged and that she would prefer not to divulge anything else. The matter had been dealt with and did not signify any further. And though Elizabeth wished for Mr. Darcy to open his eyes about his sister's infatuation and spoiled nature, she did not feel it was her responsibility to enlighten him. He would need to open his eyes for himself.


	73. Chapter LXXIII

**A/N:** Thanks for sticking with us!

**Previously:** Georgiana attacks Jane, and Elizabeth defends her sister. Darcy, after he is made to understand more of what happened, forces her to apologize.

* * *

**Chapter LXXIII**

Elizabeth smiled as she listened to Kitty play the pianoforte. There was something almost magical about the way her sister caressed the keys, bringing forth music that flowed naturally and lacked the artificiality shown by so many people who concentrated on the mechanics of music rather than its breath. Elizabeth looked over at Jane, who was also smiling as she sat and listened to the tune brought to life by their sister.

The three Bennets were alone in the sitting-room. Georgiana was absent, and Elizabeth suspected it was because she was still sulking over Mr. Darcy's admonishment for her rudeness, though it was certainly past time for her to have moved beyond her embarrassment and anger. The men—Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and even Mr. Baker—were out riding. As Elizabeth stared at Kitty—who, though sightless, often saw so much that others could not see—she thought of Mr. Baker.

The man seemed as if he were becoming a regular at Rosings. There appeared to be something pulling him to come more frequently, and Elizabeth, who could never be termed a fool, believed that something was Kitty.

Mr. Baker was certainly a pleasant man to be around. His conversation was light and amusing, and he was not above laughing at himself. Yet Elizabeth was not certain how she felt about his interest in Kitty. She had the impression that he was _almost_ what one might term a rake, but so far, he had always been proper toward Kitty. Still, Elizabeth resolved to watch him. Her sister was wise enough not to do anything foolish, but Elizabeth was uncertain she could make the same statement about Mr. Baker. And _that_ was what worried her.

When the gentlemen finally entered the room, Elizabeth and Jane stood and curtseyed, and Elizabeth began to put a hand on Kitty's shoulder to encourage her to stand, but Mr. Baker called out:

"Please, let Miss Catherine continue playing. There is no need for her to cease."

Elizabeth hid a smile and simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Soon, Jane and Mr. Bingley were speaking off to the side, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Baker approached Elizabeth and Kitty.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Baker," greeted Elizabeth.

"Good morning," said Mr. Baker quickly. "I wonder, Miss Bennet, might you allow me to sit next to your sister at the pianoforte? I must admit to being entranced by her playing."

With a nod, Elizabeth relinquished her place at Kitty's side to Mr. Baker, stepping a few feet away with Mr. Darcy. But rather than speak to the man, she kept her eyes on Kitty and Mr. Baker.

"Miss Catherine," began Mr. Baker, "I have heard of your skill with the instrument, yet truly had I never believed it could be such as it is. You play magnificently!"

"People often believe blindness to be more of a sorrow than it truly is," said Kitty, her ability to speak and play simultaneously without error evidence of her talent. "Why, I had far rather be blind than deaf! Imagine what it should be like not to be able to hear the chorus of birds outside or the lilt of music inside. These notes could not whisper their secrets to my soul."

"From the way you play, I would say their secrets are magnificent indeed," said Mr. Baker.

"Your sister does play well," murmured Mr. Darcy at Elizabeth's side. "I suspect in part it is because she had such a good teacher."

Elizabeth turned to him slightly and smiled, though she felt slightly taken aback at the intensity of his gaze. "Well, whereas I have put much of my time into books and walks, she has put much of hers into learning more of the pianoforte. Though my sisters and I were not all given such an education as is deemed fit for many young ladies, the avenues of learning were always open to us, and when we wished to learn, we certainly could. We developed our individual skills, and I believe us happier for it."

"Does it make you sorrowful, Miss Catherine?" came Mr. Baker's voice, causing Elizabeth to look at him once more. "Since you cannot see the sheet music, is it not difficult to learn new songs?"

"I have learned to rely on my ears," said Kitty. "The eyes do not have to be your most important sense. Many people do not realize that. Their minds have been closed to such a possibility. They forget the delight of sounds and smells and even touch."

Elizabeth watched as Mr. Baker gave Kitty a small smile. It was a smile that said he was intrigued—a smile that meant he would be watching her further and seeking her out.

Elizabeth moved her eyes to Mr. Bingley, who was speaking in a low but animated voice to Jane. When Mr. Bingley had begun to pay his attentions to Jane, Elizabeth had known he was a good man who could bring Jane much happiness. When it came to Mr. Baker, however, Elizabeth was more wary. She _thought_ he had a good heart, but Kitty was quite vulnerable. Perhaps she was of a sturdier sort than Jane was when it came to her inner feelings, but Kitty could be compromised quite easily without even realizing the danger looming before her. Certainly, Elizabeth could never leave Kitty alone with Mr. Baker. She simply had to ensure that he did not make any maneuvers to cause it to happen.

But as she watched a bright smile spread across Kitty's face, Elizabeth found herself hoping that perhaps Mr. Baker would prove her suspicions wrong. Even if he only became a friend to Kitty, that was something of which she needed more. It was difficult to reconcile the desire to shelter Kitty with the desire to expand her horizons. Perhaps letting her gain more friends was one way to approach the issue.

Satisfied that the conversation between Mr. Baker and Kitty was going well, Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy and began to speak to him. And thus the rest of the morning passed very pleasantly.


	74. Chapter LXXIV

**A/N:** My apologies for the delay-got so involved in what I was doing last night, that I completely neglected to post. Having said that, thanks for everyone's patience and for all the reviews!

**Previously:** Elizabeth listens to Kitty and Mr. Baker talk as Kitty plays the piano.

* * *

**Chapter LXXIV**

Jane Bennet was a pleasant young woman who had the distinct advantage (or disadvantage, if one was to consider the way her mother acted!) of being the most beautiful in a family of five daughters. The fact that she was a pleasant young woman with gentle manners and a tendency to see the good in others—almost to a fault!—was further testament to her eligibility as a prospective wife. And though her mother was often almost vulgar in her proclamations of Jane's being "admired wherever she went," the statement itself was certainly not untrue.

Though she had never had the experience of being all but courted as her elder sister had, Jane had had her own fair share of admirers since the time she had officially come out. Many would have feared for her due to her propensity to think well of others, worrying that she was a prime target for a rake to take advantage of. However, whatever else Jane was, she was in no way mentally deficient—Jane Bennet knew what she wanted in life. A healthy income and the trappings of wealth were all fine, but Jane and Elizabeth had spoken of their wants and desires for many years, and neither was willing to settle for anything but the best in a marriage relationship. In short, Jane was not about to resign the last name of Bennet until she was certain that she loved her prospective partner and was assured of his returning her feelings.

Mr. Bingley's attentions were clear for all to see. After those desolate weeks when he had left Hertfordshire, Jane had almost given up hope of seeing him again, regardless of the fact that he had given her reason to hope for his return in the letter he wrote upon leaving. Since their meeting in London, however, he had made his attentions clear, not only by the attention he had paid her, but also by requesting—and being granted—the right to court her. And though Jane had enjoyed his attentions, after more than three months of being courted, she now found herself impatient for Mr. Bingley to finally declare himself and propose.

On a fine spring morning, when the birds were singing tribute to the glorious day, Jane found herself walking through the back gardens of Rosings estate, content with her life and joyous at the companionship of her admirer. They were happy and content, their discussion ranging over many subjects, flowing as effortlessly as conversation between two such intimately acquainted souls was wont.

"Miss Bennet," spoke Mr. Bingley suddenly, as they strode their way through the gardens.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley?" replied Jane.

She stopped to look at him, and a fluttering began in her stomach when she noticed his uncharacteristically serious expression. Mr. Bingley was so affable and good-natured that his acquaintances rarely saw him with anything other than the brightest of smiles upon his face.

"I had wondered... That is to say, I wish to know..."

He fell silent for a moment, obviously struggling to marshal his thoughts. Jane held her breath, certain he was on the verge of something significant—something she hoped would be a declaration.

At length, Mr. Bingley appeared to gather himself. He inhaled a large breath, then focused his gaze upon Jane, causing her fluttering stomach to overturn itself completely.

"Miss Bennet, I wish to know what you would consider essential in a marriage partner."

"Sir?" queried Jane, nonplussed at his odd question.

"Please humor me, Miss Bennet."

The smile he directed at her reassured her and gave her the confidence to answer truthfully. "Mr. Bingley, I am certain I have been very clear over the course of our acquaintance as to what my ideals of marriage are, but for the sake of clarity, I shall be specific. I require a person with whom I can speak easily, one who is kind and considerate, and one who, above all, loves me as much as I love him."

"In that case, my dear Jane," said Mr. Bingley, a soft smile adorning his face, "I believe that there is nothing left to discuss."

He reached out and, grasping both of her hands between his own, declared himself thus:

"Miss Jane Bennet, I cannot tell you how grateful I am that I decided to rent Netherfield, as it has led me to you. I have spent these past months since our reunion endeavoring to impress upon you the depth of my regard for you. Indeed, I love you beyond anything in my life. I never expected to have the good fortune to obtain my heart's desire in such a fashion, and I beg you to grant my fondest wish and accept my hand in marriage."

Tears appeared in the corners of Jane's eyes, and though she wondered if perhaps she was incapable of making a coherent response, she endeavored to assure him that his present assurances were not in any way unequally reciprocated.

"I believe you know," said she, "that I have made my preference very well known. I appreciate your care for my feelings, but I tell you now that I have known since Hertfordshire what my response would be, should you offer me your hand. I receive your proposals with pleasure, and I assure you that I would be honored to be your wife."

Mr. Bingley could only respond with laughter, a sentiment in which Jane quickly joined. The lovers continued on their walk, content in their shared love for the other, knowing that they had finally completed their journey toward one another. Now, they could begin the rest of their life together.

At length, their meandering steps led them to Rosings, where they immediately came upon Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. Their shining countenances must have betrayed their good news, as the two shared a glance with one another before joining the now declared lovers and waiting expectantly for the news. Jane was distracted for a moment, wondering at the two of them—could Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth perhaps share a common feeling of regard for each other? She was not allowed to consider this for long, as Mr. Bingley, in his usual ebullient style, blurted out their good news.

"Darcy! Miss Elizabeth," exclaimed he. "I believe I must solicit your congratulations for some very good news!"

"Elizabeth!" continued Jane, engulfing her sister in a close embrace, "I am so happy! Mr. Bingley has made his proposal, and I have accepted!"

Her sister returned the sentiment enthusiastically, her gay laughter ringing throughout the room. Her enthusiastic reply, however, was equalled by Mr. Darcy's own congratulations to her newly betrothed. It was, in all, a perfect day.


	75. Chapter LXXV

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Bingley proposes. Jane accepts.

* * *

**Chapter LXXV**

Everyone in Rosings who had not heard of the engagement would of course need to be told, and so it was that with no feelings of apprehension or hesitancy that Darcy went to inform his sister of the development. After his reprimand of her, she had taken to sitting in a small drawing-room where others seldom went, and it was there that he found her.

He stood quietly for a moment, watching her fondly, before she turned. She had begun to paint something which he could not yet make out, and when she saw him, she gave him a slight smile. "Fitzwilliam," said she by way of greeting.

"Georgiana," responded he warmly. "I wish you would spend more time in company than in this room, but at least you appear to be using your time somewhat pleasurably."

She hesitated for a moment before replying. "Solitude can be beneficial sometimes."

"Yes, it can." He examined his sister for a moment before speaking again. "I have some news, Georgiana. You must go offer your congratulations to Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet, for they are now engaged."

Georgiana shot to her feet, an expression of utter horror on her face. "What?" cried she. "No, brother, that cannot be!"

Darcy started to reply but faltered. His sister should have been happy for the pair. Certainly, the engagement had been just on the horizon, so it should not have been a shock for her. Why would she react in such a way? It bewildered him.

And then he realized exactly why—and he felt foolish for not having seen it sooner. She must have had a preference for Bingley herself. The reason she had been behaving so strangely was that she wanted what was not hers to take. He had obviously not been a very diligent brother if he had failed to see her pointed interest in Bingley. He had noticed a certain affability on her part when it came to conversing with Bingley, but he had merely thought it was because Bingley was such a good friend of his. Obviously, he had been mistaken.

"Georgiana," said he firmly, determined to take his sister in hand as he apparently should have done long before, "I shall not tolerate such behavior. You shall not be married for some years yet, and I certainly do not wish to see you acting ill toward such important acquaintances of mine. I expect you to congratulate Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet, and you shall behave yourself as a proper lady and not as a child."

Now, it was to be said that Darcy was more than a little angry at himself, for having missed something such as this, and at his sister, for having embarrassed him by acting so poorly. As a result, there was more of angered sternness in his voice than the firm understanding of a loving brother.

Georgiana thereby managed only the first syllable of his name before fleeing the room in tears.

Darcy stared after her for a second before placing a hand over his eyes. He had not expected such a reaction, but perhaps he should have.

Since the deaths of their parents, Darcy had acted as a sort of father figure to Georgiana. He had seen to it that she received a proper education and had all her needs fulfilled. Yet perhaps he had been too much the doting brother. Or perhaps he had simply been blind to the fact that she was a growing young woman—not just a little girl any longer. He had been too focused on his own problems to give credence to the possibility that his sister might be having some difficulties of her own.

She _did_ need to be reprimanded. She had to realize that she would not receive what she desired simply by virtue of the fact that she desired it. But perhaps he had been too harsh.

He took a minute to calm himself before he sought her out. He went to her room and knocked on the door. "Georgiana?" called he. After receiving no answer, he called out again.

Finally, the door creaked open. "What is it?" came a whisper of a voice.

"I wished to apologize for being so harsh, Georgiana. Please, come out of your room."

After a second of hesitancy, she opened the door further and stepped out.

This time, he spoke with more gentleness. "I had not realized your feelings for Bingley until now, and perhaps I made too light of them. I am sorry that your heart was hurt by the news which I bore, but time will heal it, Georgiana. Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet will be quite happy together, and you should be glad for them, though it may mean your own sadness. Loss is part of growing up, I am afraid. But you must simply make amends and move forward."

"Oh, brother," said Georgiana before burying her face in his chest. He placed his arms around her comfortingly and gave her a sad smile which she could not see.

When she finally pulled away, he looked at her affectionately. "Georgiana, I am certain in a few years you shall tug on the heartstrings of a man who shall bring you more happiness than you can imagine."

"Thank you, brother," said she quietly. She was no longer crying, but she still appeared a little upset.

"You may take some time to yourself. But please, Georgiana, come and congratulate them. Though it may be painful, you must make a new start."

"Yes, brother."

He left her and went to join the happy Rosings party in the largest drawing-room. A little while later, Georgiana entered, and she congratulated the couple as he had requested. She did so without any enthusiasm, but malice was also missing, so he said nothing. Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet were too filled with joy to allow anything to ruin their day anyway.


	76. Chapter LXXVI

**A/N:** Yeah, I know-I'm late again. No excuses, just the next chapter!

**Previously:** Darcy tells Georgiana of Bingley's engagement.

* * *

**Chapter LXXVI**

Walking through the massive doors which led to the interior of the manor at Rosings Park, Elia Baker gazed about in contentment. _This_ was where she belonged—among those who were the cream of society. She _was_ the granddaughter of a duke after all.

As the servants stepped forward to guide them into the house, Elia revised her opinion—it _was not_ Rosings which was the prize—that honor was reserved for the incomparable Pemberley, the home of the man she meant to marry. Elia had never visited the great estate, but she had heard much of it from the colonel. The fact that she had never visited Pemberley _did not_ stop her from coveting it. Mr. Darcy would marry her—there was no other resolution to be had.

James strode ahead, apparently eager to reach their destination and put himself once more in the company of the young lady who had caught his fancy. Elia glared at him in consternation—it was a poor time for James to finally rein in his proclivities and truly pay attention to someone he met. He had recently become a regular visitor to Rosings, while Elia had almost become an interloper. And when he returned home, his conversation was less than scintillating or encouraging—his focus was not on Elizabeth Bennet as it should have been. No, he reserved his attention for her sightless younger sister.

In truth, Elia had nothing against the young woman—other than a sense of pity for her due to her disability. She appeared to be a kind and sweet young woman with many of the characteristics of her elder sister. It was the timing of James's sudden infatuation—in fact, it could not be worse. Now when she needed him to distract Elizabeth Bennet in order to leave Mr. Darcy to her, he was busy chasing after the sister. Elia was disgusted with him, but thus far, she had been unable to influence him the way she had in the past.

On their arrival to the sitting room, they were shown in and greeted by the occupants, which included the Bennet sisters, Mr. Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam—Miss Jane and Mr. Bingley were absent, no doubt making calf eyes at one another somewhere on the grounds. Elia kept her gaze carefully away from the colonel, and concentrated on Miss Bennet, who greeted them with pleasure. Elia assumed her mask and greeted her hostess with her usual vapidity.

"Miss Bennet, how nice to see you."

"Miss Baker," replied the woman. "Welcome to Rosings. I hope you have been well."

"Indeed," said Elia, even as she forced herself to mask her displeasure at the woman acting as mistress to an estate of which Mr. Darcy was master. "James and I have both been well, and who could not be with the beautiful spring with which we have been graced?"

"I can only agree," was the warm reply. "I can think of nothing better than a walk in the woods of Kent—they are so beautiful this time of year."

"A walk is agreeable," said Elia with a sniff. "However, I do wish there were less insects, less wind, and less sun. The heat is unbearable, the wind blows my carefully coiffed hair from its restraints, and the insects buzz this way and that without a thought for who they annoy. It is most disconcerting and very thoughtless of them to do so."

Elia watched as Elizabeth smiled at her, and she was certain she detected a hint of the other woman suppressing her natural inclination to roll her eyes. Miss Bennet's opinion of her did not bother her in the slightest—if the woman thought her dense, then all the better. Perhaps she would discount her as an opponent.

"I daresay you are correct," said Miss Bennet. "I try to put such things from my mind and concentrate on the loveliness of nature when I walk."

"I am certain _you_ do," said Elia.

"Please have a seat, Miss Baker," invited Miss Bennet. "I will order some refreshments directly."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet." Elia turned a sly eye in James's direction and continued: "I believe that James had something of which he wished to speak to you. I am certain you enjoy his company."

"Indeed, I do," confirmed Elizabeth. "I will speak with Mr. Baker during the course of the afternoon, I am sure."

With that, Elizabeth turned away. Turning, Elia surveyed the room, and noting the fact that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had left the room during her conversation with Elizabeth, she chose a seat nearest to the door, where she could snare Mr. Darcy the moment he stepped into the room.

She glanced around, observing that her brother had immediately sat himself beside Miss Catherine, who occupied the piano seat. She suppressed a scowl at the blatant favor shown to the young woman and cursed once again his betrayal. As they sat there, Miss Catherine allowed her fingers to move over the keys, playing snippets of various pieces while they conversed. A few of their comments floated to Elia as she sat and listened.

"I do not for the most part miss the loss of my sight, Mr. Baker," Miss Catherine was saying. "It does no good to dwell upon such things, and I shall only make myself unhappy if I were to do so."

"I am certain you are correct, Miss Kitty," responded James. "I do not doubt your wisdom in the matter."

Elia started at the more familiar appellation. Had they truly progressed to the point of using such familiarity in the short time since the young woman's arrival?

"But in answer to your question," said Miss Catherine, "I _do_ miss colors, but I have compensated for the fact that I cannot _see_ them by being able to _feel_ them."

Mr. Baker regarded her thoughtfully. "Can you explain?"

"Certainly. Think of the color yellow—it is a warm and vibrant color which puts you in mind of the color of the sun on a beautiful summer day or the pale loveliness of a young woman's summer dress. Blue is much colder, yet still lovely in its way, while red is a bolder, more determined sort of color. Each is different, and if I imagine how the color would feel, then I can still partake in its beauty, though I cannot see it."

Elia had to stifle a snort—it was just like James to be caught up in discussing such frivolous subjects as colors with a blind girl! She turned her thoughts away from the absurdity of her brother and focused on Mr. Darcy while she waited, considering the most elusive catch which he had turned out to be.

Elia had always known that the lure of doing his duty to his family was strong for Mr. Darcy, and she had had to fight to turn his attention toward her and away from the young heiress of Rosings. It had been a hard-fought battle, but she had finally felt that it was one which she was winning, only for him to disappear for many months. Then Elizabeth Bennet had appeared on the scene, and she had one thing which Anne had never possessed—a true and honest attraction from Mr. Darcy.

Elia was aware of Mr. Darcy's character. He was a very conscientious man who performed all of his duties to the best of his ability. He was conscious of his image in society and the importance of marrying well and in his own sphere. However, Elia had always suspected that underneath the man's stern and proper exterior lurked a true romantic who yearned to meet and connect with a young woman on a personal basis. She suspected that given half a chance, he would leap at the opportunity to marry a woman for love alone. This was what she had cultivated with him—after all, it was the only way she could induce him to marry her over his cousin.

However, she was also aware of the fact that her relationship with him had always been somewhat false. She knew he felt a measure of attraction for her, but as the front she put up for his benefit was not her true self, she was uncertain as to his true feelings. She had caught his attention by using her wiles, but could she hold his interest, especially with Elizabeth Bennet sniffing about like a bloodhound?

The door opened, and her quarry stepped in, but to Elia's great disappointment, he was accompanied by her rival, and they were laughing together, showing great contentment in one another's company.

Through narrowed eyes, Elia watched them as they continued their conversation, noting their interaction, which made her more uneasy than ever before. Mr. Darcy was betraying his feelings in everything he did—the way his eyes sparkled as he spoke with her, the times he reached out and touched her hand, and the very fact that he was conversing with her with greater animation than she had ever seen him converse with _anyone_. All of these things spoke to the depth of his regard. As for Elizabeth herself, Elia was not able to determine her feelings as clearly, but what was apparent was the fact that she was not unaffected by Mr. Darcy. Her observations—especially those she had made at the fateful picnic—were turning out to be accurate. Mr. Darcy—_her Mr. Darcy!_—admired Elizabeth Bennet.

This was not to be borne! She needed to think of some way to turn Mr. Darcy's attention back to her. Somehow, she could negate Miss Bennet's very great advantage of living in the same house as Mr. Darcy. But how?

Then Elia had it. She would invite Mr. Darcy to Stauneton Hall for dinner! Surely she could show him her superior skills as a hostess, something she was certain Miss Bennet could not boast, due to her comparative lack of experience if nothing else. Of course, her beauty and fortune—also virtues that Miss Bennet did not possess—could not help but impress him. Then, she would bring his attention back to its proper place—firmly upon her! He could not help but fall under her spell then!


	77. Chapter LXXVII

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** A desperate Elia resolves that showing Darcy her skills as hostess will help her win him.

* * *

**Chapter LXXVII**

Several months before—nay, several _weeks_ before—Baker would likely have been amused. As it was now, however, he was infuriated.

His sister's obsession with attaining Darcy as her husband was coloring her every action. In extending an invitation for dinner at Stauneton Hall, she had wanted to invite only Darcy, but Baker had insisted on the rudeness of excluding the others residing at Rosings. And so it was that accompanying Darcy were Colonel Fitzwilliam, Bingley, Miss Darcy, and three of the Bennet sisters (Mrs. Collins did not feel fit for such an activity).

Despite the largeness of the invited party, Elia quickly went to work on turning the situation to her advantage, insisting that Miss Bennet sit with Baker in the sitting room before dinner and then proceeding to draw Darcy's full attention to herself.

Baker sat with Miss Bennet for a moment in silence before finally releasing a sigh. "I apologize, Miss Bennet," said he in a low voice. "My sister believes that you and I should make a suitable match, though I fear it is for no reason such as our mutual happiness. Rather, she thinks it shall lead to more success in her own pursuits." Here, he turned his gaze pointedly toward Darcy.

Miss Bennet gave a light laugh. "It is quite all right, Mr. Baker. I understand that you cannot control your sister's actions, and I admit I have suspected as much, so what you say to me comes as no surprise."

"She has been rather transparent," said he, shaking his head in exasperation. He glanced at Miss Bennet. "You must forgive me also for transferring my affections so quickly from you to your sister. You must think me fickle. Yet I must admit—though it may harm my masculine pride—that you were far too intelligent for me, Miss Bennet. Your mind moves so quickly that I fear I could never have caught it."

Miss Bennet laughed, and he echoed the noise with a laugh of his own. "Mr. Baker," said she, "your intellect is certainly superior to that of many men whom I have met. I know I am glad to call you a friend."

"As I am with you."

"I am also glad that you have been so kind to Kitty. However, I must warn you, Mr. Baker, to be careful with her. I shall not tolerate anyone hurting her." The seriousness in the young woman's voice was unmistakable.

"Do not worry, Miss Bennet," said he, his own tone just as serious, "I shall be careful with her. I have no intention of harming her."

Miss Bennet smiled at him, and they talked for some minutes more before finally going in for dinner. It did not take long for Baker to take in the placement of the party at the table, and as he did so, the anger that had been simmering now boiled to the surface. Kitty had been seated on the far side of the table, next to Darcy, and Elizabeth had been seated by him.

"Miss Bennet," said he abruptly, turning to the startled woman, "I believe you should take the seat meant for Miss Catherine next to Darcy. Your sister may then sit beside me. I believe this shall be a more pleasant arrangement, as I do desire to speak with her more."

He did not miss his sister's reddening face, but he threw an angry glance at her that made her hold her tongue. The others in the room could not have helped but notice what was happening, but no one said anything, and the changes Baker had suggested were made in silence.

Conversation at dinner was somewhat stilted, the diners still feeling the effects of the abrupt switch, but Baker was able to speak with Miss Kitty some as he had desired. After dinner, he was careful to keep the young woman with him, and he attempted to keep Miss Bennet and Darcy near him. Of course, this further angered his sister, but he was certain that everyone else in the room was happier for it.

When at last it was time for the party to leave, Baker told Miss Kitty: "I am sorry that we must part, but I shall look forward to meeting with you again."

"Even I need rest, Mr. Baker, for how else should I endeavor to keep you on your toes?"

Baker laughed. "How else indeed!"

A few minutes more, and then the visitors were gone, and Baker was left to face his sister.

"What did you believe you were accomplishing?" came her furious voice from behind him.

He turned toward her. "I know what _you_ are trying to accomplish, Elia, and I have only this to say to you. You may do what you wish to snag Darcy, and I shall not stand in your way, but you must _cease_ trying to bring about some convenient romance between Miss Bennet and me. _That_ is something I shall stand for no longer."

"Of course," sneered his sister, "how could I forget your interest in a _blind _girl?"

"Mind your own business!" growled he. "As master of this estate, I hold power over you, Elia, and you would be wise not to forget it."

He stalked away in a fury, enraged at his sister's audacity. She believed too much in her own power, and it led her to do some foolish things. He wanted nothing more than to think of how delightful Miss Kitty was that night during those blessed instances when she had smiled or laughed at him, yet it was difficult to move past his anger at his sister.

She would need to tread carefully around him, as he would take little more of her meddling in his life. He had accepted it in the past, but he would do so no longer. Of that, he was determined.


	78. Chapter LXXVIII

**A/N: **Late again. Thanks for your patience!

**Previously:** Dinner party at Stauneton Hall. James warns Elia that he will not fall in with her schemes.

* * *

**Chapter LXXVIII**

Rosings Park was a house in mourning. But in Miss Elizabeth Bennet's opinion, it did not need to be a house in which there was no light or laughter.

Sensitive as she was to not only her sister's feelings, but also those of Lady Catherine's, both of whom had recently suffered a significant loss, Elizabeth would never voice such sentiments to any of the company. However, she also had no desire to continue to exist in a house in which the atmosphere was stifling, to say the least. Elizabeth was not a person who was meant for low spirits—her lively personality and playful manners ensured that regardless of the circumstances which sometimes conspired to depress her, she was generally quick in returning to herself. The notable exception, of course, had been the affair with Mr. Wickham those years ago.

In this matter, however, Elizabeth knew that they could all do with a certain revival of their spirits, and she felt that as long as her actions did not hurt or impose themselves upon those who were truly mourning, there could be no harm in a little levity to improve the atmosphere.

Therefore, upon thinking of the situation, Elizabeth determined that a dance was just the thing to take the minds of the entire party off the troubles which had recently beset them. And as an additional bonus, they could use the occasion to celebrate the recent betrothal of her sister to the man who would undoubtedly make her a very happy woman.

On a bright late spring afternoon, Elizabeth gathered together all whom she thought would benefit from the activity into Rosings' music room, intent upon carrying her point. Of course Jane and Bingley were included, as were Kitty and her recent admirer, Mr. Baker—who had almost seemed to have taken up residence at Rosings over the past days. Elizabeth judged Colonel Fitzwilliam to have the levity of character necessary to appreciate the event, and he seemed happy to accept. The two Elizabeth was surprised to have attend were her sister Mary and Georgiana Darcy. Mary, though she claimed she could not dance, was happy to attend, claiming a desire to throw off some of her recent melancholy and provide Elizabeth with a break from the pianoforte, so that she might dance as well. And though Miss Darcy was not explicit in her reasons for attending, she entered the room shyly on the colonel's arm and took her seat next to Elizabeth, turning pages and indicating that she too was willing to provide Elizabeth with the chance to dance.

The two members of the house who were not invited were Lady Catherine—for obvious reasons—and Mr. Darcy, who had conveniently been called away to a remote corner of the estate to adjudicate a dispute between two of the estate's tenants. Privately, though Elizabeth would have been pleased to have him participate, she felt that he would not see the endeavor in the same light as Elizabeth intended, and as such, his absence from the house was a fortunate boon.

Upon the party's entrance into the music room, the furniture was promptly moved to the walls around the perimeter of the room, prompting laughter and shared looks between Elizabeth and Mr. Baker—with Mary looking on indulgently—at the remembrance of the incident with Lady Catherine and her dress from the previous month. Needless to say, such behavior required an explanation, which was shared with great animation and humor. Colonel Fitzwilliam thought it a great joke, and even Georgiana smiled at the image presented of her ever-proper aunt in a state of such disarray.

Lady Catherine's reputation now in tatters, the company took their places and began the dance, Elizabeth playing the pianoforte. For the next two hours, the troubles of the past were forgotten as the company talked, laughed, and danced, for a time dispelling the gloomy atmosphere of the house.

The most illuminating event of the day, though, occurred less than a half hour after they had begun dancing. Georgiana, who had immediately sat herself down at Elizabeth's side at the pianoforte and remained silent aside from a few comments, suddenly turned to Elizabeth and said:

"Miss Bennet, shall you not also dance?"

Surprised as she was by the young girl's question, Elizabeth could only answer, "I am playing for the company, Miss Darcy. _You_ are certainly welcome to dance, if you please."

Miss Darcy colored and shook her head. "I am not inclined to dance, Miss Bennet. However, I would be vastly pleased to play the pianoforte while you dance."

"Yes, indeed," interjected the voice of Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I have been most desirous of standing up with you since we met, Miss Bennet. Please do let my young cousin attend to the music while you dance with me."

"And I shall help as well, Lizzy," said Mary in her typical quiet voice. "You have organized this affair and have done much work taking Lady Catherine's place as mistress of this house—I daresay you deserve to have the fun of a dance as much as anyone."

When the rest of the party members chorused their agreement, Elizabeth was forced to concede, and she yielded her seat to Georgiana and joined the other dancers.

The rest of the time passed in the manner which subsists among true friends, and though Elizabeth might not have expected to, she truly enjoyed herself dancing with the gentlemen, talking and laughing. Even Bingley and Jane were persuaded to take a turn with others, though it was clear they preferred one another's company. Even Mr. Baker, who had seemed like somewhat of a rake when she had met him, paid a significant amount of attention to Kitty, his interactions with her characterized by a true affection and genuine interest rather than the shallow flirting he had so often indulged in with Elizabeth. Though still a little wary of him for her sister's sake, Elizabeth felt he was taking great care in her company. Overall, she believed she had little cause for alarm.

Unfortunately, such an idyllic scene could not last. They had been in the music room for nearly two hours when the door suddenly opened and in strode Mr. Darcy. In apparent amazement, he took in the group, the refreshments (which had been delivered by the servants sometime earlier), and the music before his face took on a serious and disapproving expression.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded he.

"A dance, cousin," interjected Colonel Fitzwilliam before Elizabeth could speak up.

"A dance?" asked Mr. Darcy incredulously. "Who organized this farce?"

"Oh, do be calm, Darcy," replied the colonel. "It has been so dreary in this house lately—a little bit of levity is exactly what we all needed."

The scowl on Mr. Darcy's face became even more thunderous, and he glared back at his cousin with contempt. "Need I remind you that this is a house of mourning? If our aunt had come upon this scene, I assure you that her response would have been much less temperate than mine."

With that, Mr. Darcy turned on his heel and stalked from the room in high dudgeon. Wishing to placate him, Elizabeth moved to follow.

"Do not worry, Miss Bennet," said the colonel, attempting to forestall her departure. "He shall get over it, I daresay. Let him be angry with me—he thinks I am much too frivolous anyway."

"I do thank you, colonel," responded Elizabeth, "but I shall not be dissuaded. I am certain I can make him see sense."

Not waiting to hear his answer, she stepped from the room, stopping only long enough to instruct the servants to have the remainder of the refreshments removed.

As expected, Elizabeth found Mr. Darcy in the library—it was a favorite retreat of his when he was upset about something. She stepped into the room, and Mr. Darcy, directing a look at her, turned his back and gazed out a window onto the grounds of Rosings. She was amused at how she was able to read him of late, but stifling any hint of humor, she approached him and began to speak:

"Mr. Darcy, though your cousin's gallant action is indeed appreciated, I cannot allow him to accept the blame for our impromptu gathering. The fault is mine, as was the initial design."

Mr. Darcy half-turned and eyed her with some asperity. "I knew you had to be involved in some manner, Miss Bennet, but I must admit—I thought you had better sense than this."

Although Elizabeth bristled at his words, she swallowed her annoyance, knowing that to provoke him would only precipitate a conflict.

"I felt that the atmosphere in this house was far too dismal," said she, "and I wanted to lighten the mood—I assure you I meant no harm."

A sigh escaped Mr. Darcy, and he turned to regard her fully. "I know you did not, Miss Bennet, but I am still concerned for my aunt. I know her well enough to understand that she would be highly offended if she had come upon the scene I just witnessed in the music room, and I cannot say that I should disagree with her. She _is_ heavily in mourning, and you yourself have discussed with me your concerns over her continued health and happiness. We must do nothing to upset her further than she already is."

"I understand, Mr. Darcy."

"Do you?" queried he. "Miss Bennet, I must be frank—I understand you have been acting as the mistress of this house, and I thank you for the very great assistance you have been, both to myself and to my aunt. But the fact of the matter is that you are a guest at Rosings, and as such, I would ask you to act in a proper manner and take care not to offend Lady Catherine."

Elizabeth bristled at his tone and his words. "I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that I am more than willing to cede my position of authority in this house at any time if you feel I am not fulfilling my duties with the appropriate level of care or competence."

Mr. Darcy scowled again and made a cutting motion with his hand. "Please do not be obtuse, Miss Bennet. I have been very generous with my praise for the manner in which you have run this house and the efficiency and flair with which you have performed your duties. I would have you continue to act in this capacity as long as you wish.

"I am simply trying to be sensitive to my aunt's feelings—she _has_ recently lost her daughter, and as I am aware of her character, I know what her reaction would be. Please do not tempt her displeasure."

A little angry that she had allowed herself to respond to his obvious displeasure, Elizabeth bowed her head. "Of course, Mr. Darcy. In my defence, I will say that the music room is in a different wing from Lady Catherine's chambers, and as her ladyship has not often emerged from her chambers of late, I felt there was little danger in upsetting her."

"I suppose you are correct," agreed Mr. Darcy, though Elizabeth felt it was somewhat grudging. "There is one other thing which concerns me, however, though I hope you will forgive me for being officious and perhaps a little meddling."

Intrigued, Elizabeth assured him that she would not take offense and asked him to continue.

"It is concerning your sister, Miss Kitty. It appears as though Mr. Baker is paying an inordinate amount of attention to her of late, and I must admit that worries me."

"I assume it is because of Mr. Baker's character?" queried Elizabeth.

"In short—yes," confirmed Mr. Darcy. "I have known Mr. Baker for some years, and he is known to be somewhat of a rake.

"Oh, I assure you he is not as bad as Wickham—he would not take advantage of a gentlewoman, I believe. But I do think he still should not be trusted with her. Unless we curb his attentions, she may be hurt when his eye is inevitably caught by some other pleasing lady."

Elizabeth smiled and reached out to touch his arm in commiseration. "I thank you for your concern, Mr. Darcy, and assure you that I consider it in no way officious. I truly appreciate the care you show for my sister."

"I could not do anything else. She is a very dear girl, and I would not have her hurt if I can prevent it."

"I thank you, sir," said Elizabeth. "I agree that they must be watched, but I truly believe that whatever Mr. Baker was before, he has turned over a new leaf. The way he watches her, the way he is solicitous for her comfort—these things tell me that his intentions are not simply a passing flirtation.

"Besides, I spoke with him when we had dinner at Stauneton, and I made it very clear I would not tolerate him playing with my sister's emotions. He stated that he had no intentions of doing so and that he held only the most honorable intentions toward her.

"I also trust my sister's judgment, Mr. Darcy—Kitty will not do anything which is inappropriate."

"I did not think she would, Miss Bennet," said Mr. Darcy. "I have the highest respect for her morality and honor—I simply wish to ensure that Baker does not hurt her."

"In that case, we must agree to watch them. But I will not interfere unless Mr. Baker behaves inappropriately."

Mr. Darcy bowed in response. "I thank you for listening to me, Miss Bennet. I assure you that whatever I have said here today was merely due to worry—I meant no offense."

"I know, sir, and I thank you for it."

Their conversation turned to other topics soon after, and though they were proper in their interactions, Elizabeth felt they were drawing closer than ever before. Indeed, she sometimes caught him regarding her intently, his eyes smoldering as they watched her, and she wondered what his feelings for her were. If only she knew what the situation was between him and Elia Baker! She had felt there was no particular regard—he actually seemed to avoid her!—but a part of her still could not imagine him giving over someone of Elia's beauty, fortune, and connections for someone like her.

Still, Elizabeth refused to dwell upon it. The day's events had brought out a lightness of heart which she had not felt for some days. She was determined to enjoy it, for she could not predict how long it would last.


	79. Chapter LXXIX

**A/N:** Thanks for feeding back! And here is one more reminder that this fic should be 90 chapters. That means we are steadily approaching the end!

**Previously:** Elizabeth instigates an informal dance at Rosings. Darcy is not very happy about it, but they reconcile.

* * *

**Chapter LXXIX**

It was the twenty-ninth of May when Darcy had a most unexpected visitor.

Mr. Rutledge was the solicitor for the Fitzwilliam and the de Bourgh families, and he had been in that position since before Darcy was born. He was a gruff man who frequently eschewed social niceties (such as giving advance notice of his arrival to his clients), but he was well-versed in law and skilled at his occupation. Perhaps he was slower in recent years than he had been at the peak and waning of his youth, but there were none who would decry his dedication. Had his family not possessed a solicitor of their own for some decades, Darcy might have employed Mr. Rutledge himself.

Darcy and Mr. Rutledge closeted themselves in the study, and after Darcy saw to the other man's comfort, he began: "I must admit to being surprised to see you here, Mr. Rutledge. But on considering the matter, I must conjecture that you are here as a result of my cousin's death."

"Yes," acknowledged Mr. Rutledge with a grunt, making no apology for not having sent a letter to announce his visit. "I am here to discuss Sir Lewis de Bourgh's will."

Darcy gave a slight nod. "I apologize for having been remiss in writing to you for the purpose of discussing that very thing. But we have been facing a number of tribulations here." And perhaps he was paying a little too much attention to a certain lively woman to think clearly.

Mr. Rutledge offered him a sly smile—something which seemed out of place on what was usually a most serious face. "Yes, well, had you known the secret provisions of Sir Lewis's will, I suspect you would have been more eager to learn about its full contents."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sir Lewis was a man with a keen eye who was aware of what possibilities the future might hold. As such, he was cognizant of the fact that his daughter might not ever be able to produce a child due to her ill health. He also believed his wife might never properly manage the estate. After considering these matters and discussing the situation with me, he decided to include a clause in his will that if his daughter died before producing an heir—or if she were not married by her twenty-fifth birthday—then the property would go immediately to Sir Lewis's only living family. One condition of this was that his wife, who he wished to provide for, would receive a yearly allotment and be allowed to stay at the estate until her death."

Darcy mulled over this for a moment. The stipulation that Anne de Bourgh be married by twenty-five must have been a large part of the reason why Lady Catherine had been so desperate for a union between Rosings and Pemberley. And it also explained why his cousin had been desperate enough to attempt to marry a scoundrel like Wickham.

But then Darcy caught upon a certain phrasing of Mr. Rutledge's, and he said in confusion: "His only living family? Do you mean, perhaps, the Fitzwilliams?"

"I do not. Instead, I mean the Bennets of Hertfordshire."

It was all Darcy could do to keep from making a startled exclamation. Instead, he fought his astonishment and asked calmly: "I was not aware of any familial connection to the Bennets. What do you know of this connection?"

"You would not know of it," said Mr. Rutledge with a dry chortle, "for there was some effort to keep it a secret. Mr. Bennet's mother was the sister of Sir Lewis's father. She did little to recommend herself, however, for she married a lower sort of gentlemen. For a proud family such as Sir Lewis's, this was quite a scandal, and the Bennets were therefore viewed as a disgrace to the family line. While this relationship between the Bennets and the de Bourghs is not spoken of and hardly remembered, Sir Lewis and Mr. Bennet were cousins. I believe Sir Lewis found them to be distasteful, as he was a proud man, but he had rather the estate of Rosings pass on to them rather than go to the hands of a fortune-hunter who married his daughter to attain the property. If Miss de Bourgh had produced an heir, then the property would have been in the trust of her husband had she died, but it would have gone to her child. But due to her ill health, Sir Lewis believed in taking precautions to keep the estate within the family."

Mr. Darcy paused for but a moment before asking: "What, then, is to be done?"

"I have already spoken with Mr. Bennet regarding Sir Lewis's will, and he has decided what is to be done with the estate, so you need not worry. In fact, he has entrusted me with a letter to be given to his eldest daughter, whom he informs me is presently a guest at Rosings."

"Yes," murmured Darcy. "Then I suppose I must inform my aunt and Miss Bennet of these developments."

"Indeed," said Mr. Rutledge, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the letter from Mr. Bennet.

After taking the letter from him, Darcy spoke a few more words with the lawyer and then saw him out.

He could not help but wonder at the contents of the letter in his possession, but those thoughts were soon superseded by a feeling of dread. If he knew one thing, it was that his aunt would not be happy with the turn of events. Her reaction to such news—particularly at a time when she was still mourning her daughter's death—would not be a good one.


	80. Chapter LXXX

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews!

**Previously:** Mr. Darcy receives a visit from the de Bourgh family attorney and discovers that Mr. Bennet has become the owner of Rosings after Anne's death.

* * *

**Chapter LXXX**

The day which would change Elizabeth's life forever began much the same as any other day. She left her bedchamber, and after indulging in one of the sticky pastries which she so enjoyed, she adjourned to the small office which had been set aside for her use and inspected the household accounts. Then, giving the housekeeper her instructions for the day, Elizabeth thought to go out and walk the grounds of Rosings.

A summons from Mr. Darcy to join him in the study did not even come as a surprise—he often called her in to discuss some facet of the estate or to hear what she had to say of the house. However, his discussion on this particular morning was not of the normal subject matter, and within moments of arriving, she knew that some great matter was weighing on his mind. She was patient, allowing him to make his small talk and come to his point in his own time, sensing that he was trying to order his thoughts.

"Miss Bennet," stated Mr. Darcy at length, "I should be surprised if you have not apprehended that I have not called you here to exchange pleasantries this morning."

When Elizabeth allowed that she had suspected some more important matter, Mr. Darcy continued:

"Indeed, you are correct. And though I have attempted to determine exactly how to broach this subject, I am as of yet at a loss, so I shall be direct. I pray you forgive me for blurting this news out, as it were."

Curiosity peaked, Elizabeth sat silently as he reflected once more for a moment and then turned his attention back upon her.

"Yesterday, Miss Bennet, I was visited by the family attorney, Mr. Rutledge, who had come to me to disclose the disposition of the estate now that my cousin Anne has departed from this world."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Darcy," affirmed Elizabeth. "I know this matter had been of some concern to you. What was his verdict then?"

"It appears, Miss Bennet, that Sir Lewis's heir and the new master of Rosings is none other than your father, Mr. Bennet."

Open-mouthed, Elizabeth gaped at Mr. Darcy. "My father?" demanded she, an incredulous quality inherent in her voice. "Mr. Darcy, is this some kind of jest?"

"I assure you, Miss Bennet, this is indeed no situation for jest," was the man's sober reply.

"But how? The Bennets are certainly not connected with the de Bourghs and therefore cannot be within the line of succession. And did Anne even have a will? And why would she have left Rosings to my father even if she had possessed one? This whole situation reeks of farce and is hardly believable."

"That is because you do not possess all the facts, Miss Bennet. Indeed, until yesterday, I had no knowledge of these matters, nor was I aware of the provision in Sir Lewis's will which shall cause the estate to devolve to your father. I am as surprised as you."

He proceeded then to impart to her the specifics of his conversation with the attorney the previous day, touching on Mr. Bennet's relationship with Sir Lewis and the specifics of the secret provision in Sir Lewis's will, which named her father the heir of Rosings if no other heir were to be produced. By the end of his explanation, Elizabeth was fairly stunned at the enormity of what was happening to her family. Never in her wildest dreams would she have suspected that her father was to inherit such an estate as Rosings!

"Can I get you some wine, Miss Bennet?" asked Mr. Darcy in apparent concern. "This truly must be shock for you—perhaps a small glass would be advisable to help you regain your composure."

"I am fine, Mr. Darcy, I thank you," managed Elizabeth. "I am truly astonished at this turn of events, but I assure you that I am well."

His eyes stayed upon her for several more moments, and he sat in a nearby chair, taking her hand in one of his in comfort. Grateful for his show of support, Elizabeth calmed herself and forced her eyes to his.

"What does it all mean, Mr. Darcy? Will my father come to live here now? And what of Rosings? Does it also have some form of an entailment upon it as well?"

"No, Miss Bennet," said Mr. Darcy. "There is no entailment on Rosings. As I have told you, the estate comes to your father through my uncle's will, and as such, there are no other limitations on Rosings other than what your father should determine on his own."

Suddenly, the implications were clear to Elizabeth, and she gasped. "But that would mean that when my father is gone, Rosings…"

"I believe you are correct, Miss Bennet," confirmed Mr. Darcy. "In fact, if you will permit me," continued he, while rising and walking to his desk, "the attorney has already seen your father and has delivered a letter from him addressed to you."

He placed the missive in Elizabeth's hands, and she looked at it dumbly for several moments before raising her gaze to meet Mr. Darcy's once more.

"I believe, Miss Bennet," said he in a gentle tone of voice, "that it may be best for you to read your letter in privacy. Lady Catherine must be informed of these developments. Shall I leave you to read your letter and return with my aunt in thirty minutes?"

Elizabeth smiled tremulously. "That would be greatly appreciated, Mr. Darcy."

"Then I shall speak with you again in half an hour," replied Mr. Darcy. Taking her hand, he bestowed a kiss upon it before taking his leave from the room.

Though she was somewhat curious as to its contents, Elizabeth stared at the letter for several moments, her mind desperately trying to catch up with the events of the morning. It appeared to be a standard epistle from her father, though perhaps it was somewhat thicker than was his wont. And though Elizabeth could not find herself prepared to actually become acquainted with its contents, at length she sighed and, breaking the seal, opened the letter and began to read.

_My Dearest Lizzy,_

_I am certain, my precious daughter, that you have been as shocked by these events as I have been. Please understand that I never thought Sir Lewis would have included such a clause in his will. Certainly, I was never given to expect that such a thing would ever come to pass._

_But perhaps before I go into the matter at hand, a small explanation of our connection with the de Bourghs would not be amiss._

_I have always known of the connection between our two families. Indeed, my mother told me stories of her childhood at Rosings Park and of her brother, Sir Lewis's father, and in no way did she ever attempt to hide the connection which existed between us._

_Unfortunately, the de Bourghs were a different matter. They were a very proud family, both in their heritage and in their fortune and connections. However, they have always been a very small family, as for many years the family has had no more than two children in any generation, and in many only one. (I fancy that I am the exception to the rule, as I have fathered you and your four sisters!) Therefore, when my mother married my father, the de Bourghs considered the connection to be beneath them, as, though my family has held Longbourn for centuries, we have never been as wealthy or influential. Your great grandfather de Bourgh held his daughter at arm's length for the rest of his life, a distance which was maintained by Sir Lewis when he became the master of Rosings. I know what the rest of the family thought of my mother, but in the end, she married my father because she loved him. Do not allow any of your _other_ relations to slight your grandmother—she was one of the most exceptional women I have ever had the pleasure to meet, and I am proud that you bear her name, Elizabeth._

_I only met Sir Lewis once before his death—I was a young man, newly married and master of my own estate, when I was invited to attend him at Rosings. I arrived and was introduced to his wife Catherine and his three year-old daughter Anne—who was sickly even then—and spent three days in their company. Sir Lewis died merely a year later when the pox swept through Kent._

_I had always wondered at the invitation and the time I spent with my cousin at Rosings—he never gave me any understanding of the reason for the invitation, nor was it ever repeated, though I cannot say whether that would have changed had he lived longer. Now, I can only conjecture that he was testing me, seeing if I could be a worthy successor to the family's legacy. He must have already suspected that he may not father another child and that Anne might not have been likely to produce a child of her own. He was a proud man, to be certain, but in my mind, this insight of his shows some greatness of mind._

_You might wonder why I have never spoken to any of you about this. To be frank, I never felt the need to do so. Since the de Bourghs did not recognize the relationship, you would not be making their acquaintance, and if you did so by some quirk of fate—such as you have—I did not think Lady Catherine would impart the information to you. It seemed pointless to make anything of it. In fact, I believe that the only reason why Lady Catherine allowed you and your sister Mary to stay at Rosings was because you _are_ family—her pride would not allow it otherwise._

_Now for the particulars of our present situation. I have for some time felt anxiety for the marriage prospects of you and your sisters. Jane's excellent Mr. Bingley notwithstanding, the chances of the rest of you making a good marriage with so little dowry and standing in society are not overwhelming, as you well know. My health, indifferent as it has always been, has exacerbated this concern. And though we are now not beholden to Mr. Collins, regardless of the sex of Mary's child, I would like to do something more to allow you and your sisters some happiness in your lives._

_As such, I have instructed your Uncle Phillips to update my will with the following provisions:_

_First, you have now been designated my heir to all of my holdings. This means that Rosings will be your inheritance, as will Longbourn, unless of course, Mary gives birth to a son—in that case, he, of course, will inherit Longbourn. Perhaps with a great estate as your dowry, you can entice some worthy young man to make you an offer. I have no doubt you will provide for Mrs. Bennet and any unmarried sisters upon my demise._

_Second, I have instructed Mr. Phillips and Mr. Rutledge to immediately cede control of Rosings to yourself, as I believe you will take better care of it than I ever could. You may think I am evading my responsibility in the matter, Lizzy—and I own that you may be correct—but I believe it is for the best. After all, I can hardly take the time to run my own estate, Lizzy, never mind intending to run one more than four times its size! Make certain you have a good steward, allow yourself to get over your disappointment in the matter of that scoundrel Wickham, and find a man with whom to settle down._

_There—it is done! At rather little inconvenience to myself, if I may say. I will only add that I wish for you to be happy, Elizabeth. Enjoy your improved status and consequence, and do not allow Lady Catherine to dictate to you. When we meet again, I shall tell you more of my mother._

_Please also be advised that I shall not tell your mother of these events for now—it would not do to have her descend upon you and frighten away all the young men who will no doubt be camped outside your door!_

_Thomas Bennet_

Sitting back, Elizabeth released a sigh and considered her changed situation. She was now the proprietor of a great estate! How could this have happened?

She perused the letter again, feeling a faint sense of disappointment in her father. She was certain his health would improve if he could only bestir himself from his bookroom, but in this, he had abrogated his responsibilities yet again. Yet she could not hold it against him—he _was_, in his own way, looking out for her and her sisters, and she knew that he loved them all fiercely.

While she was thus pondering the events, the door opened, and Mr. Darcy walked in, followed by Lady Catherine, who was complaining vociferously at being rousted from her room. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed Elizabeth's presence, and Elizabeth, suspecting this would be a difficult conversation, stood and curtsied to the woman.

"What is this, nephew? I suppose you wish me to once again take over running of this house. After all, this…" Lady Catherine paused and directed a scornful glare at Elizabeth before continuing: "...Miss Bennet can hardly have the ability to run a great house such as this properly."

Though Elizabeth bristled at the insult, she kept her countenance, allowing Mr. Darcy to defend her.

"I assure you, Lady Catherine, that Elizabeth has run this house with an efficiency and flair which is to be commended. You will not be required to run this house, now or in the future."

The lady's eyes narrowed, and she affixed Mr. Darcy with an imperious glare. "Of what are you speaking, Darcy? I am mistress of this house and will assume my proper role, as I have always intended."

"Lady Catherine," said Mr. Darcy evenly, "the situation has changed. I have just been informed by Mr. Rutledge of the final details of Sir Lewis's will and the implications for the future of the estate."

"My husband's will was executed twenty years ago when he departed this life, Darcy," snapped Lady Catherine. "Do not speak nonsense."

"I assure you, I do not. Sir Lewis enclosed a secret provision in his will with instructions as to the disposition of the estate should Anne die without an heir. In it, he named Mr. Thomas Bennet as the heir to Rosings—this has now been executed. You are now speaking with the new mistress of Rosings."

Lady Catherine gasped, her face turning an unhealthy shade of white. "That cannot be!"

"I assure you it is, Lady Catherine."

"But… But… There must be some mistake. My husband would never have left Rosings to those awful Bennets!"

"I have the documents if you wish to see them."

"I have no wish to see them!" cried Lady Catherine. "This is all your fault, Darcy! If only you had married Anne like you ought, then nothing like this could have occurred."

Elizabeth was not surprised at the lady's reaction to the news, but she was decidedly unhappy at Lady Catherine's words concerning her family, and she resolved to tell her as much:

"_You_ may not have liked my family, Lady Catherine, but I will thank you not to disparage them in my presence!"

"Oh, be silent, child!" barked Lady Catherine. "My father-in-law's sister was a disgrace, marrying such a lowborn thug as your grandfather! You have not the wit to understand how unsuited you are to be the mistress of this great estate!"

"Lady Catherine!" said Mr. Darcy. "This is not helping the situation in the slightest. By your words, I can see you knew of the connection—why did you not welcome the Bennet sisters when they first came here?"

"Because they are not worthy!" screamed Lady Catherine. "How could my husband have betrayed me in this manner? What is to become of me? What is to become of Rosings?"

"Miss Bennet will take over management of the estate, Lady Catherine, but you will be given an allowance and will be allowed to stay here until your death."

"Stay here, with her and her… _relations_ polluting the very stones of this great estate? Never!"

Lady Catherine rose, her countenance flushed and her eyes wildly darting here and there. Her breath was coming in great gasps, and Elizabeth began to be fearful for the lady's health.

"You!" screamed she at Elizabeth. "You must be some kind of witch! You have attempted to bewitch us all, insinuating yourself into the workings of this estate as though you belonged."

Her feverish hands found a vase situated on a shelf, and she seized it, hurling it at Elizabeth, who ducked out of its path.

The lady continued to scream and curse at Elizabeth, even while Mr. Darcy ran to subdue her, calling for the assistance of two nearby footmen. The incensed lady was forcibly removed from the room to her bedchamber, and Mr. Darcy, fearing for her sanity, called in a doctor to administer laudanum so she could be calmed.

For Elizabeth, the woman's outburst was but another example of her poor manners and breeding. Unwilling to face anyone else that day, Elizabeth retired to her rooms, instructing the housekeeper to provide her with a tray at dinner. She spent the time thinking of what had happened, and though she was still shocked, she began making plans as to the disposition of the estate. She hoped Mr. Darcy would not feel compelled to leave Rosings now that it had come to her possession—she was hoping to have his help in understanding the running of the property. And a small voice inside her whispered that he might find her as eligible as Miss Baker, now that she possessed a dowry. She could only hope.


	81. Chapter LXXXI

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Elizabeth is told Rosings is hers, and an angry Lady Catherine throws a vase at her.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXI**

Elizabeth was not certain how precisely to share the revelation of the relationship between the Bennet family and the de Bourgh family and the news of the subsequent fate of Rosings. After seeing Lady Catherine's violent reaction to the unexpected development, Elizabeth knew it could not remain secret for long—more than just her sisters would need to be told. Fortunately, however, Mr. Darcy appeared to be aware that the information had to be imparted posthaste, and he calmly and rationally made the announcement to those in the Rosings sitting room—of which Mr. Baker was also a party.

Elizabeth's sisters seemed particularly surprised at the turn of events, and there were a few surprised exclamations from Kitty and Mary before Jane ventured: "Elizabeth, can it be true?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, it is, dear Jane."

"How delightful!" exclaimed Mr. Bingley. "You must be happy indeed."

Mr. Baker, who was seated near Kitty, offered: "Congratulations, Miss Bennet. I am certain such a grand estate shall do well in your hands." But as soon as he had finished speaking, his gaze returned to Kitty. No change in Elizabeth's fortune would make him alter his preference.

Even Colonel Fitzwilliam offered forth a jubilant congratulation, and once the general commotion caused by the announcement had ceased, Elizabeth went to Jane's side, where the two commenced talking quietly once Mr. Bingley had moved away to give them some privacy.

"I am so happy for you, Elizabeth," said Jane, her genuine joy filling her voice. "I have rather been worried about you—particularly since those troubles with Mr. Wickham. And now that you do not need to worry for your future, you shall not have to marry if you do not desire to do so. However, I suspect that such a decision might make a certain attentive young gentleman very disappointed." And just to be sure her meaning was understood, Jane's eyes glided over to rest on Mr. Darcy, who was having his own private conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley.

Elizabeth blushed but said nothing.

"I suppose Lady Catherine is discontented with this development," said Jane slowly.

"That would be an understatement," said Elizabeth with a laugh. "But I am afraid deciding what to do with the estate was entirely up to her husband. I had no part in it."

"Perhaps she shall soon see that it is a beneficial thing—"

"I doubt that, dear Jane. Her ladyship will never be content with me as mistress of the estate. You cannot make everyone happy."

They talked for a while afterward, but something was weighing on Elizabeth's mind, and she approached him and asked quietly if he might meet her in the library soon. He agreed, and she went and waited in the library—which was filled with so many memories—for a few minutes before he joined her.

She turned upon hearing him enter and put the book in her hand back on the shelf. "Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Darcy."

"It is no trouble at all, Miss Bennet. Might I ask what you wish to speak with me about?"

"Perhaps it is presumptuous of me," said Elizabeth slowly, "but I wished to speak a little of the finances of Rosings."

Mr. Darcy gave a curt and businesslike nod. "I have no numbers to directly give you at present, Miss Bennet, but I can inform you that my aunt's excesses over the years—which I have done my best to prevent—have hurt the estate to a certain extent. However, the estate still remains profitable, and there are no large debts to be paid. Rather, there is always some money available."

Elizabeth nodded, her forehead crinkled in thought. "I am glad to hear that, Mr. Darcy. You see, I wish to settle some money on all of my sisters for dowries. It need not be much, but I wish to help them attract good husbands."

Mr. Darcy looked at her in surprise, but his voice was filled with admiration. "Somehow, I doubt you need worry about that too much, Miss Bennet. Miss Jane is already engaged, and Miss Catherine has a suitor who does not appear to care about her financial situation—"

"This is something I wish to do," said Elizabeth firmly. "I wish to aid all of my sisters."

Mr. Darcy's mouth turned upward in a slight smile. "I understand, Miss Bennet. I am certain something can be arranged to your satisfaction." He gave a slight bow and turned to leave.

It was all Elizabeth could do to keep from reaching a hand out to touch him. "Mr. Darcy?" she called as he stood in the doorway.

"Yes, Miss Bennet?"

"Thank you for understanding, Mr. Darcy." She smiled at him, and he stared back at her for a few moments in silence.

"It is my pleasure to do anything to assist you, Miss Bennet." He gave another bow, and then he was gone.

Elizabeth's happiness that day was great indeed. She would be able to help her sisters, and her mother—though the woman would always fret until all of her daughters were married—would at least have a little pressure taken off her as well, as would Elizabeth's father.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth's joy was chipped away in the next few days as Lady Catherine complained loudly and frequently to all nearby about how the estate of Rosings was going to the Bennets. Her ladyship had calmed down somewhat—and was not threatening bodily harm to anyone with words or actions—but she was still quite upset. Her anger only increased when she learned about the dowries Elizabeth was settling on her sisters.

Still, despite the woman's unhappiness, Elizabeth managed to remain content with the future. Everything was going well. No matter how many vases were thrown at her, she would not stop believing that.


	82. Chapter LXXXII

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews!

**Previously:** Elizabeth speaks to her sisters about her inheritance, and tells Mr. Darcy she would like to provide dowries for them.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXII**

The days after receiving word of the Bennet/de Bourgh connection and Elizabeth's inheritance of the estate were busy, as Elizabeth struggled to come to terms with the very great fortune which had befallen her. During her time at Rosings—especially the time in which she had acted as the house's mistress—Elizabeth had focused on the house, not the wealth which lay about her. And though her walks through the countryside had given her an indication of the breadth of the estate's holdings, she still truly had no real idea of exactly what she had inherited.

The attorneys were very efficient and quick in their work—it was merely a few days after the announcement became known that she was confirmed in her ownership of the estate. And though Lady Catherine was still unhappy with the development—and was not reticent to share her opinion!—the thing was done, and the fortunes of Elizabeth's family were assured. Regardless of Jane's forthcoming marriage to Mr. Bingley, none of the Bennets would ever have to be dependent upon him; through Elizabeth, and perhaps Mary's unborn child, the Bennets would always have a means to support themselves. It was truly an astonishing change in fortunes from merely a few months previous, and Elizabeth could readily imagine what her mother's reaction had been.

There were, of course, vexations associated with the sudden change in fortunes. First, Lady Catherine, unwilling to accept what she could not change, flatly refused to remove herself from the mistress's chambers, claiming that they were hers by right and that she would not stand aside for some upstart. And while Elizabeth was quite content to allow her to carry the day—she still did not _feel_ like the mistress of Rosings, after all!—she was aware that she would eventually need to assert her authority. She had confirmed with the attorneys through Mr. Darcy that the will was specific in that Lady Catherine was to be allowed to reside at the estate, but it did not specify the manor house. Thus, upon speaking with Mr. Darcy and the colonel about the matter, she decided that the best thing to do would be to move her to the dowager house once she had allowed the woman's temper to cool. Not only would that remove her from Elizabeth's presence, but the dowager, while certainly not large in the manner of Rosings, was still a large, handsome building, which had been well-maintained over the years.

Rosings itself was also a large vexation. Indeed, she did not know what she would have done had Mr. Darcy and the colonel not been present to help her through the transition. She had never before understood exactly how gifted Mr. Darcy was in running the estate—he almost seemed to have some ingrained ability to immediately see through to the heart of a problem, and his advice was almost invariably sound. Though she was well aware of the fact that he would eventually need to return to his own estate, she was more than content to continue to allow him to make the decisions with respect to the operation of Rosings.

Of course, this threw her already confused feelings into a greater maelstrom of chaos. She was well aware of the fact that now that she was the proprietor of a great estate, Mr. Darcy might well consider an alliance with her to be far more strategic than he had in the past—and he had already been paying attention to her previously! Could he be considering proposing to her now that she met his standards of wealth and even connection?

One thing was made clear to her—the colonel certainly considered her to be acceptable for his need for a wealthy match, given a few comments which he had made in her company. However, she could not even contemplate encouraging him until she was able to determine her exact relationship with Mr. Darcy.

It was therefore, a fortuitous happenstance that Kitty's birthday was to occur on the Friday following the attorney's visit. Grateful for the opportunity to focus on something other than the troubles inherent in suddenly coming into ownership of a great estate, she threw herself into planning a party in Kitty's honor.

That day dawned with the characteristically warm weather for the beginning of June, and Elizabeth instructed the servants to set up some tables on the front lawn of Rosings. The tables were loaded with sandwiches, Kitty's favorite apple pudding, and other delicacies from Rosings' kitchens. The sisters then informed their sister that they would be going out for a walk on the grounds—something Kitty still loved, as she enjoyed the wind upon her face—and left the building.

But Kitty was clever, and knowing what day this was and that her sisters always did something for her, she would not be fooled.

"Where shall we walk, Lizzy?" asked she, as innocently as she was able.

"It is not far, Kitty," responded Elizabeth with a smile, knowing her sister had likely already determined that something was about to happen. "In fact, I believe we have already arrived."

Elizabeth carefully guided her sister to sit at the nearest table.

"Have you had some new benches installed in front of Rosings, sister?" asked Kitty, feigning ignorance.

"No, indeed, dearest. In fact, we brought you out here today to celebrate your birthday! It was eighteen years ago this day that our precious sister was born, and we must celebrate!"

"Thank you, Lizzy!" said Kitty with a smile and an embrace.

The other members of the party stated their congratulations, and soon the entire group was seated at the table, speaking with one another and enjoying the repast. Elizabeth, content with the company and the distraction from her problems, watched the rest of the company. Particularly, she enjoyed the attentions of one James Baker toward her sister—indeed, if he could avoid it, he rarely left her side, and he had almost taken up residence at Rosings.

After their meal was finished, they plied Kitty with their presents—some ribbons, a necklace and bracelet set, and some combs for her hair. But Kitty's most treasured gift was received from her admirer, who, seated beside her, pulled an item from his pocket and turned to face her.

"Miss Kitty, I also have a present for you, though perhaps it is not completely proper at the present time. I decided that the occasion warranted my small lapse."

Kitty blushed and, with a slightly unsteady voice, assured him that she was surprised and pleased that he had thought of her and that she would take no slight.

"It is a wooden carving of a dancing woman," said he, while placing it in her hands.

Kitty's fingers ran over the figurine, and she turned to him with a smile. "I thank you, sir. It feels exquisitely done."

"I am glad you feel that way," responded Mr. Baker.

In his smile and in his eyes, Elizabeth saw for the first time the true depth of his regard for her sister. Blinking back tears, she happened to catch the eyes of Mr. Darcy, and in an instant, she knew that he had seen it as well. But Mr. Darcy's expression, while slightly relieved at this expression of Mr. Baker's regard, was also intensely upon her, and she felt in some measure a sense of his regard for _her_. Blushing, Elizabeth turned her attention back to her sister and Mr. Baker, resolving to think upon this new evidence of Mr. Darcy's feelings at a later date.

"In fact, Miss Kitty," Mr. Baker was saying, "I feel I should tell you that this carving is a unique item, made specifically for you. I carved it myself, thinking of how you looked when we were dancing last week."

Kitty gasped and held the carving to her, her hands moving over its surface. "I thank you for this precious and thoughtful gift, sir," said she, her voice almost inaudible. "I shall treasure it forever."

The servants approached, one carrying a fiddle, and upon Elizabeth's nod, he began to play a lively tune. Soon the diners had moved away from the tables and begun to dance on the lawn of Rosings. Elizabeth grinned with delight—she was certain Rosings' staid and proper grounds had not been put to such use in many a year, if ever!

The Bennet sisters congregated around their youngest present, and the dancing began. Elizabeth, who had always felt a special bond with Kitty, moved through the steps of the dance with her sister, gaily laughing and enjoying the dance. To her side, Bingley and Jane were moving with abandon, happy in their own situation.

It was not long, however, before Elizabeth saw Mr. Baker approach, and laughing with delight, she yielded her position to him, hopeful for her sister's happy future. She moved to the side of the dancers, noting that Georgiana Darcy—who had become much easier to live with since Jane's engagement—was also engaged in the dance with the colonel.

She was thus engaged in watching the couples when she felt a presence at her side. She turned to see the smiling visage of Mr. Darcy gazing at her tenderly while laughing indulgently at the antics of those gathered there. He spoke not a word—he merely held his hand out to her and led her into the dance.

For the afternoon, Elizabeth was able to forget her troubles, and Rosings and everything else in her life floated away on the music. After Mr. Wickham, she had thought she would never again be able to giver her heart away, and to a certain extent, the supposition was still true. She appeared to have little choice in the matter, as Mr. Darcy appeared to be stealing her heart away like a thief in the night. She could not find it in herself to truly care, though—losing her heart was proving a most enjoyable experience.


	83. Chapter LXXXIII

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Kitty's sisters have a pleasant birthday party for her.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXIII**

A week later, Elizabeth's outlook on life had become decidedly more negative. She had become overburdened by the stress of her situation. Inheriting such an estate as Rosings was no small thing, and while it was a blessing to her family, it entailed a lot of responsibility—and it was causing a few adverse reactions in two women of her acquaintance.

Lady Catherine was, of course, vociferous in proclaiming her displeasure, and she appeared to have made it her duty to pester Elizabeth—and occasionally the other Bennet daughters—about the injustice of Rosings passing to the Bennets rather than to some more illustrious—if more distant—personage found in the family line.

Elia Baker appeared to have also taken up arms against Elizabeth. Her ways were much more subtle, however, and while Miss Baker never directly expressed anger over Elizabeth's inheritance of Rosings, Elizabeth suspected the woman was indeed infuriated by it, for the situation raised Elizabeth's appeal as a bride quite a lot. Miss Baker seemed to be trying to trump this unexpected "victory" for Elizabeth by showing her face more frequently and denouncing Elizabeth at every opportunity.

Finally, Elizabeth had her personal feelings about Mr. Darcy to face. She had spent quite a lot of time in his presence learning more details about the estate, and she was finding it hard to ignore how precious—and almost even torturous—that time with him was to her.

No man had ever been able to make Elizabeth as angry or as happy or as confused as Mr. Darcy could. Even the incompetency of her sister's late husband had never brought her to such extremes as Mr. Darcy was able without even trying. And yet she had no idea how the man felt about her. Sometimes, when she caught him staring at her with an intense expression on his face, she almost dared hope that she was in his thoughts as frequently as he was in hers. And now that she would bring an estate with her upon marriage, her hopes wished to gain more altitude.

But Mr. Darcy had done nothing definitive to make Elizabeth believe he truly was interested in her. Still, the dance between them at Kitty's party had not been one shared between two people who were friends alone. It had been imbued with a greater significance than that.

This tangle of thoughts and the beauty of the mid-June day brought Elizabeth to the abrupt decision to go riding. She was certain the pleasure of the mild breeze, the beauty of nature, and the grace inherent in a horse's movements would help her unravel. Perhaps it would not be best for her to go out riding alone, yet she needed to do so to clear her head.

After mounting one of Lady Catherine's ridiculously named horses—"Ringing Bell" this time—Elizabeth guided the silver creature into an open field. But not even nature could distract her for long, and she found herself sinking deep into thought.

The strands of trees around the estate escaped her notice, and without paying attention to her path, Elizabeth unwittingly let her horse guide her into the wooded area. It was only the sound of hoofbeats that jolted her back to her surroundings and made her suddenly realize the sort of trouble she was in.

Swiveling as much as she dared while riding sidesaddle, Elizabeth turned and watched with trepidation as the last man she would have expected to see pulled his horse up close beside her: Mr. Wickham.

Her shock was immeasurable. She had thought him long gone. And to meet him in a wooded region such as this was a terrible misfortune. Her heart seemed to be pounding in her throat as she clenched the reins tighter. She needed to escape his presence.

"Mr. Wickham," managed a shaky voice she was not quite certain was her own. "Why are you here?"

"I have received some interesting news about you, _Miss Bennet_. There is a female servant at Rosings to whom I have been paying _quite a bit_ of attention, and she has provided me with some valuable information. It appears you have become the heir to this estate. You have risen high indeed in the world, have you not?"

Something in his voice made Elizabeth shiver. He must have intended to renew his addresses to her for the purpose of obtaining Rosings—as he failed to do when pursuing Anne de Bourgh due to the frail woman's unfortunate accident.

"And you have dropped low in the world indeed if you were willing to leave a woman behind to die," returned Elizabeth with a confidence that was at odds with the frantic beating of her heart. "I am now in possession of your true character, Mr. Wickham, and you shall not attain Rosings through marriage to _me_. You would do well to leave here now and never return."

He brought his horse up so close to her that it pressed uncomfortably against her legs. In a low voice, he told her with a sneer: "I have no intentions of leaving without what is rightfully mine—your virtue." He reached out and started to run his hand down her neck toward her chest.

Elizabeth shoved him away and drove her horse forward, glad to be freed from the pressure of his horse against her legs.

She tried to press her horse onward. But she was riding sidesaddle and unable to ride as swiftly as he could, and he soon caught up to her. The open field was not far away, and it beckoned her. But before she could make one last attempt to surge forward, he leaped off his horse and knocked her to the ground. His weight pushed against her, and the air rushed out of her chest. Her ears listened desperately to the sound of their horses trotting off.

He pinned both of her arms to the ground, and his voice said in a low hiss against her ear: "I will compromise you so that you have no choice but to marry me. And getting the wealth that is Rosings shall be much more pleasurable with you than it would have been with frail and pathetic _Anne_. You were always meant to be _mine_, Elizabeth."

She struggled against him, but her maneuverability was limited. Then he released one of her arms so he could pull at her sleeves, and she hit his nose with her palm as hard as she could. That only succeeded in making the lurid look in his eyes grow in intensity.

The swell of absolute fear rose up in her bosom. He would ruin her, and all the gains she had made would be for naught.


	84. Chapter LXXXIV

**A/N:** Well, that last chapter got a response! Hopefully this one will appease you!

**Previously:** Elizabeth, frustrated with her new responsibilities, goes riding in the woods and is accosted by Wickham, who is intent on compromising her in order to gain Rosings.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXIV**

Darcy was concerned, as Elizabeth Bennet was nowhere to be found.

He had endeavored to help her as much as he was able these past days, knowing what she had been dealing with since learning of her sudden and surprising inheritance. Having been through the same thing himself, Darcy could well empathize, though he knew it was worse for her—_he_, at least, had always known he would inherit.

Watching her these past days had been a torment. Her struggles with her new lot in life were met with the same fiery determination and will to succeed as anything else she did—he was so far gone in love with her that he doubted he could be _anything_ but impressed with her! But he was also aware that the stress of the situation was such that she was reaching a breaking point.

So he had canvassed the servants of the house, trying to determine where she might have hidden herself away. All of her usual haunts—the office she had used since she had taken over the mistress's duties, the library, the music room—had been empty, and he was concerned that she might have left the safety of the house and gone out walking.

Indeed, he had known she was a great walker since he had met her in Hertfordshire—she had rambled about the groves of Rosings many times since she had arrived in Kent as well. However, then she had been a country miss from an obscure estate. Now, she was the proprietress of one of the largest estates in Kent, and try as he might, Darcy could not help but feel uneasy at the thought of her in the woods somewhere by herself, where someone could come upon her and hurt her without anyone being the wiser.

Determined to find her, Darcy exited the house, intent upon knowing whether any of the gardeners or stable hands had seen her departing the immediate grounds. He was in luck, as the first gardener he asked was able to give him the information he desired.

"Yes, sir, I did see Miss Bennet," said the man. "She was riding a horse from the stables. She rounded the side of the house heading west the last I saw her."

"How long ago was this?"

"Oh, about half an hour ago, sir."

Nodding his thanks, Darcy headed toward the stables, intent upon finding out if she left a destination and determined to follow her himself. He was just about to enter when he heard his name called, and he stopped to see Mary Bennet running toward him. He quickly noted her breathless state and obvious distress. Concerned about her overexerting herself and about the condition of her pregnancy, he strode toward her with some concern.

"Mrs. Collins, whatever is the matter?"

"I am very worried," exclaimed Mary, pressing a hand to her side.

Suspecting she had developed a stitch in her side due to her exertion, Darcy led her to a bench and sat her down, allowing her to catch her breath.

"Now, please allow me to understand what has distressed you."

"I was upstairs in my bedchamber, Mr. Darcy," began Mary, still somewhat breathlessly, "when I saw my sister Elizabeth riding away from Rosings toward the western groves. In the distance, I saw another rider approaching her, but I do not think she saw him."

"Another rider?" demanded Darcy, his heart filling with dread. "Could you tell who it was?"

"No, sir. I do not know she is in danger, but I also do not believe the rider was anyone associated with this estate. The rider approached from the north, towards the boundaries. I would not wish her to be caught in the woods without any protection."

Darcy jumped to his feet. "I have not an instant to lose!" cried he. "Thank you, Mrs. Collins, for bringing this to me—I shall do my utmost to ensure your sister's safety."

Bowing perfunctorily, he strode away at great speed, heading for the stables. When he arrived, he called out for assistance.

"You there! I need two horses saddled immediately—there is not an instant to lose!

"Have my cousin the colonel summoned here at once," he continued turning to another stable hand.

As the stable hands leaped up to do his bidding, Darcy paced back and forth, impatient and fearing the worst. And though it seemed like ages before the animals were saddled and ready, in reality only a few moments had passed.

Colonel Fitzwilliam strode into the stable, and once Darcy had explained to him the situation, both men were on their horses, and they galloped away from the house, intent upon finding their quarry.

Sick at heart at the feeling of unease and helplessness which threatened to overcome him, Darcy mercilessly pushed his horse, soon outstripping the colonel, who received the inferior mount. Praying that there was nothing amiss, he crossed the ground to the grove in moments, diving into the undergrowth when he reached the border to the woodland.

He had gone no more than a few yards into the forest when he heard a cry, and urging his horse forward a little more, he was greeted by a sight which at once shocked and enraged him. _His_ Elizabeth, while attempting to flee, was knocked to the ground by her pursuer's superior strength and abilities, and the man—that scoundrel Wickham!—immediately leapt from his horse and assaulted her, his intentions clear.

Pushing his horse to cover that last precious distance, Darcy pulled up next to the struggling pair and threw himself from the saddle, knocking the libertine from his position over Elizabeth and into the bushes beyond. Quickly regaining his feet, Darcy strode forward in a fury. He reached Wickham and, without thought, struck him hard in the stomach before grabbing his shoulders and throwing him into the dust, causing the man's breath to leave his body in a great gasp of air.

Turning, he witnessed his cousin helping Elizabeth from the ground. Her dress was torn about the arms and the neckline, but other than her shocked countenance, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Scowling at the sight, Darcy turned back to Wickham, and seeing the man attempting to struggle to his feet—Darcy was certain the man was trying to flee—he grabbed him about the shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

"Wickham!" snarled Darcy with every ounce of hatred he felt for this man. "You treacherous snake! You have imposed yourself on me and my acquaintances for the last time."

Wickham turned white and began pleading for mercy in a most craven and reprehensible manner, disgusting Darcy with his utterly cowardly attitude.

"You never could face a man directly, could you?" sneered Darcy. "Always, with you, it is one who is weaker than you who becomes your target. Well, that stops now!

"Since you have pretensions toward being a gentleman, I challenge you to a duel. Colonel Fitzwilliam is my second—have your second meet with him to discuss terms."

"A... a duel?" squeaked Wickham in response. "Surely you cannot be serious!"

"I am, Wickham. Though you are a rabid dog who should be put down, I will not kill you in cold blood. Prepare to meet me on the field."

Desperation apparently brought on Wickham's bravado. "But Darcy, truly there is nothing for you to be angry about. I was merely assisting Miss Bennet after she had fallen from her horse."

His eyes shifted back and forth as he spoke, clearly alighting on his horse, which stood grazing some ways off, and calculating whether he could make it to the creature and be off before they could catch him.

The colonel, however, seeing this, smirked in a most unpleasant manner and moved to cut Wickham off from his escape. "I think not, _George_. You will not escape justice this time—I very much look forward to Darcy here giving you your just desserts."

Wickham blanched, but before he could spout some other untruth, Darcy interjected: "Do not insult me, Wickham. You will either meet me in a duel, or my cousin and I shall hunt you and put you down like the wild cur you are!"

Unwilling to speak to the man any longer, Darcy gathered up the reins to his horse, along with those of Elizabeth's and Wickham's. Helping Elizabeth to mount—her natural resiliency was assisting her greatly, it appeared—he led them away from the wood, enjoying greatly the sight of Wickham's distress at seeing his best chance of escape being confiscated.

"Watch him," said Darcy to his cousin as he rode by. "I do not trust the coward not to run."

"He will be there at the appointed time," promised the colonel with an evil laugh before he turned back to Wickham, who was even then trying to hasten away without being seen. "Come, now, George. I have not spoken with you for many months. I believe we have much to speak of."

The ride back to Rosings was accomplished largely in silence. Miss Bennet, though she appeared to be calm, was obviously still shocked by her experience, while Darcy was having trouble controlling his temper. How could she put herself in this kind of danger, knowing that Wickham had been lurking around the estate and had been complicit in the death of his cousin? What would it take to convince her that she must take greater care?

Their arrival at the house was characterized by the throng of Elizabeth's sisters, all gathering around to ensure themselves that their beloved eldest sister was well. Darcy was pleased to see Georgiana in the group as well, shyly telling Elizabeth that she was glad she had returned safely.

Once the sisters had assured themselves of Elizabeth's safety, the scoldings began, much to Darcy's amusement. Surprisingly, it was sweet and calm Jane Bennet who took the lead in scolding the eldest Bennet daughter.

"Elizabeth! Whatever do you mean riding out into the forest like that without thought of what danger might be lurking inside?"

Miss Bennet's response was positively mulish. "How could I have known that Mr. Wickham was nearby? I have walked these grounds extensively since arriving and have never run into any trouble previously."

"With all due respect, Miss Bennet," intervened Darcy. "Then you were a simply country miss—an extraordinary one to be certain—of little wealth and consequence in the world. Now you are the owner of a large estate, and as such, that carries certain responsibilities and risks which you have never had to deal with before."

"Mr. Darcy!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

But before she could begin her diatribe, Jane Bennet once again stepped in. "Stop it, Lizzy! You know he is right!"

Miss Bennet apparently knew when to back down, and the concerned stares of those present were more than enough for her to note that the present company was united against her.

"Miss Bennet," said Darcy in a softer tone of voice. "Please, for the sake of those who love you, do not venture out into the woods without an escort for protection."

Darcy bowed and walked away, but not quickly enough to miss the gasp of surprise from Elizabeth as she understood his implication. By now, he did not care who knew—he was in love with Elizabeth Bennet, and he would allow no one to come between them. Especially the likes of Wickham!


	85. Chapter LXXXV

**A/N:** As always, thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Darcy rescues Elizabeth from Wickham and proclaims they will duel.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXV**

The sixteenth of June was the day of the duel. The morning was one that—had Wickham not proven himself to be the most reprehensible of beings—Darcy could very well have desired to spend in a pleasant ride. Instead, it filled him with the cold resolution to burn a lesson forever into Wickham's mind.

Darcy had never been a violent person. Even as a child, he had not been especially keen on playing roughly with other boys. He was physically fit, but as a gentleman, he always held himself with dignity, eschewing the vulgarity of violence. But upon seeing Wickham assault Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy had wanted nothing more than to pummel Wickham unto death. Even now, the thought that he could end Wickham's life in the duel was proving itself to be a temptation that might very well be quite difficult to resist. While authorities generally turned a blind eye to duels when no one was killed, duels _were_ illegal, and if he ended Wickham's life, he might very well be punished by the court.

Early, before he went out to face the wretched man, Darcy was met by Elizabeth Bennet. Her eyes were red, and she was obviously distraught, and Darcy felt as if at that instant, he would be unable to deny her anything she asked of him.

"Are you really going?" inquired she. Her voice was soft and tremulous, and it had that faint quality of hope that a different answer would be given than was expected.

Unfortunately, he had to disappoint her. "I am."

There was a brief pause before she spoke again. "I beg of you, Mr. Darcy, do not kill Mr. Wickham. No matter what he has done, you must not kill him."

He felt the stubborn and proud part of his heart rear its head. After what Wickham had done, she was worried about him? How could she bear even a shred of pity toward that man?

And then he asked a question that tasted like acid on his tongue. "Do you care for him, Miss Bennet?"

"What?" exclaimed she in surprise. "Of course not, Mr. Darcy. I should be glad if I never rest eyes on him again." She averted her gaze from him. "Rather, I am worried about you, Mr. Darcy."

"About me, Miss Bennet?" questioned Darcy in surprise.

"Yes. Should you kill Mr. Wickham, then there shall be repercussions for you. It shall be seen as murder." There a pleading tone to her voice now. "And should Mr. Wickham prove himself to be a skilled duelist..."

Darcy found his heart strangely warmed by her concern. "You must not worry about me, Miss Bennet. Wickham has never been a match for me with either the sword or the pistol. We were boys together, and I am acquainted with the extent of his skills and his reticence to hone what skills he may have—he has ever been far to involved with his vices to put much effort into them. I shall return unharmed, and I will speak with you as soon as I do."

She started to extend a hand, as if to touch his arm, but then she pulled it back and gave him a slight smile. "Then I shall await your return."

A short time later, Darcy was riding to the area he and Colonel Fitzwilliam had designated for the duel—the same region where Wickham had shown the low depths to which he was willing to sink. The events leading up to the duel were occurring in such an unusual manner that Darcy almost felt ashamed to oppose one so obviously not a gentleman. Wickham had shown no inclination to send a second to work out the particulars of the duel (such as whether to use pistols or swords), so Darcy had told his own second, Colonel Fitzwilliam, to be prepared for any eventuality—including the possibility that the despicable coward would try to flee.

When Darcy arrived shortly, Wickham was already present. Darcy noted with a smirk that the other man was obviously frightened. Yet he was unable to do anything, for Colonel Fitzwilliam, James Baker, and a couple of trusty Rosings footmen were preventing him from escaping.

"You were right, Darcy," said the colonel, "he tried to sneak off like a coward."

"And his second?" queried Darcy heavily. There were no unfamiliar faces nearby.

Baker snorted. "Such a rat as this has no friend to risk his life for him."

Darcy shook his head in disgust. This duel was becoming more ridiculous all the time. But the grimness on the faces of Baker and Colonel Fitzwilliam told Darcy that they were taking this just as seriously as he was. Wickham deserved to be punished for what he had done, even if he did not deserve the honor of being challenged to a duel by an actual gentleman.

"Shall it be pistols or swords, then?" asked Darcy.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was holding on to Wickham's arm, took his hand from the man and cuffed him roughly on the back of his head to elicit a response. Wickham muttered something Darcy could not hear, and the colonel nodded toward one of the footman. "Swords it shall be."

As the footman moved to first give Darcy his sword, Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke. "Since this beast has no second, I shall decide the particulars of the duel. It shall be fought to first blood—and if you decide, Darcy, that the first blood you draw shall be with a sword through Wickham's chest, then so much the better."

Wickham was at last released and given his sword, and he and Darcy moved to position. When Colonel Fitzwilliam gave the signal, Wickham immediately lunged.

Darcy sidestepped Wickham's clumsy and rash move, not even bothering to swipe at the easy target presented by his unstable opponent. Wickham straightened and held his sword upright, his eyes darting up to meet Darcy's. Darcy merely stared back, and as Wickham struck time and time again, Darcy met every blow.

Darcy had not been exaggerating when he told Elizabeth Bennet that Wickham was no match for him. The man had never learned the value of patience, of waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Wickham was like a blinded bear, striking out indiscriminately and aimlessly, failing to land a blow on his more agile and careful enemy.

It would have been so easy for Darcy to plunge his sword into Wickham's heart. Opportunity after opportunity presented itself, but he refrained, instead letting Wickham tire himself out. With every second that went by, Wickham's desperation and fear grew.

"You have been practicing, Darcy," gritted Wickham as their swords locked.

"And you have not," returned Darcy smoothly. "Your days with drinks and dice and loose women have done nothing to help you."

"You are simply jealous of how close I was to taking from Elizabeth Bennet what she has been so desperately longing to give to me."

With a low growl, Darcy struck out, swiping his sword across Wickham's stomach. The blade slashed through Wickham's clothes, drawing a thin line of blood and thereby ending the duel.

Darcy moved up close to Wickham and said in a low voice: "I shall ensure that you never touch Miss Bennet again."

"And how do you intend to do that?"

Baker and Colonel Fitzwilliam had rushed forward at this point, and they wrenched away the swords and pulled the two men apart.

"You have no friends here," said Darcy in a low voice. "For what you have done, I shall have you shipped off to Australia. I have more connections than you can imagine. And most gentlemen take very seriously the misdeeds of one who feigns to be a gentleman and then shows such reprehensible behavior as you have. You will never even see Miss Bennet again."

Letting out an animalistic noise, Wickham struggled to break free of the hold Baker and the colonel had on him. His eyes were flaring with rage and hatred, and Darcy stared back at him. He was serious. He refused to allow Wickham to walk freely in England. He would protect Elizabeth Bennet from that monster.


	86. Chapter LXXXVI

**A/N:** Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Previously:** Darcy meets and defeats Wickham in a duel, then arranges for his transportation.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXVI**

When Mr. Darcy walked into the room, Elizabeth almost fainted with relief. She believed it a good thing she was already sitting, for she felt her legs were insufficient to support her at that very moment.

The man's reassurances notwithstanding, Elizabeth knew that there was no guarantee that even if Mr. Darcy was the more skilled, Wickham would not somehow injure him—or worse—during the course of something as dangerous as a duel. And this did not even cover the possibility of treachery, for she knew that in no way was Mr. Wickham a gentleman, nor did she know what sort of support he possessed in Kent.

Quickly composing herself, Elizabeth rose to greet the man who had become essential to her. She greeted him quietly and asked him to be seated.

"Mr. Darcy," began Elizabeth, "I am very grateful that you are returned to us unscathed."

"Miss Bennet, as I informed you, Wickham has never been my equal, and I was in relatively little danger."

"It was _a duel_, Mr. Darcy!" cried Elizabeth. "You cannot know what will happen in advance! What if Mr. Wickham were to try some treachery, or what if he was more skilled than you had thought? What would happen if you were injured or even slain during this contest of yours?"

Mr. Darcy was silent, and Elizabeth could tell he sensed her upset. His intense stare soon made her uncomfortable, and she looked down at her hands, trembling slightly.

"I would not have you believe that I am not grateful that you defended my honor, sir," said Elizabeth. "But surely there were other ways to do so rather than putting your life at risk."

"Though it is somewhat of a vanishing custom, it is _still_ the province of a gentleman, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth's displeasure was extreme. "And Mr. Wickham is no gentleman, sir."

"He is not," agreed Mr. Darcy. "But his pretensions toward the title, as well as his actions toward you, merited my response.

"Besides, Miss Bennet, Wickham—the cowardly cur he is—would not even have shown up had my cousin not ensured his presence."

Elizabeth felt her annoyance softening. "Please tell me what happened."

Mr. Darcy related the entire morning's events, from Mr. Wickham's reluctant participation, to the fact that he did not even have a second, and ending finally with the duel's outcome. He had then ensured Mr. Wickham was handed over to the authorities—Hunsford village contained a single constable and a small gaol, and Mr. Wickham was awaiting transportation to London, and from there to Australia. Elizabeth felt a measure of relief that he would never bother her again.

"I thank you again for your assistance, sir," said Elizabeth once his narration had wound down. "However, I still believe you took an unnecessary risk. If you were intent upon having Mr. Wickham transported, why did you not simply have it done, without having to risk yourself?"

Mr. Darcy considered it for a moment. "I _could have_, Miss Bennet. But I did not believe it enough of a punishment for him. I will not take any unnecessary risks, but I _will not_ allow _anyone_ to offend you!"

Taken aback by his fervent defense of her, Elizabeth gazed at him with no small measure of astonishment. Would that she had had such a defender the first time she met Mr. Wickham.

"Mr. Darcy, I _am_ appreciative of the fact that Mr. Wickham will soon be gone for good. I daresay that he is the last man on the face of the earth that I would ever wish to come across again.

"I believe I have never told you of our last encounter when he first came to Meryton."

Mr. Darcy confirmed that she had not, inducing Elizabeth to continue.

"I was madly in love with him," allowed Elizabeth with a wry smile. "In fact, half of the ladies in the village—married or not!—were madly in love with him. You know enough of his ability to charm to doubt it."

When Mr. Darcy allowed it to be so, Elizabeth took up her tale again. "I suppose I must allow for my extreme youth as a reason that I was taken in by him, but I know in my heart that I was in love with the prospect of being in love, and I should have known better than to allow my heart to be touched in such a manner by a man of whom I knew nothing. But regardless of could have or should have, I _was_ drawn in by him, and it was not until the end of his time in Meryton before I finally became aware of the truth of Mr. Wickham."

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Elizabeth reflected back to the traumatic experience, willing herself to relate it to him. She knew that finally revealing the experience to another would be cathartic and might even induce her to finally let the past go.

"Mr. Wickham came to Longbourn on that day and asked me to accompany him for a walk. As we had done this many times previously, I did not think anything of it and gladly accepted his arm. But whereas we had always walked within sight of the house before, and always with Jane as a chaperon, on this morning Jane was not ready as of yet, and she had not descended the stairs.

"I was concerned with his insistence, but as he told me he had a very particular question to ask, I, as a silly young girl, was excited that he should finally propose and accepted his assurances, though I was never accepting enough to actually go out as far as he wanted.

"He did manage to get me into a somewhat secluded spot, and after assuring me of his undying love, he attempted to elicit some... immediate physical gratification from me in a most shameless and forward manner, telling me that as he was obliged to go away for a time, that he wished to have something to remember me by."

Mr. Darcy's face was livid by now, his ire against Wickham undoubtedly raised to new heights. Elizabeth felt certain that he was on the verge of returning to the Hunsford gaol and demanding that Mr. Wickham be hung for his crimes.

Leaning forward, Elizabeth laid the palm of her hand on his cheek, forcing his attention back to her.

"I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I rebuffed his advances and immediately began stalking back toward the house. My thoughts were such a muddle, I hardly was aware of what I was thinking, but I know that my girlish infatuation was struggling with my anger at his presumption.

"We had a blazing row on the lawn behind the house when he caught back up to me. It was then that he told me that I was nothing more than a silly girl and that all he had wanted was my virtue, as I was good for nothing else with my nonexistent dowry. He commenced to tell me he had found a _woman_ with whom he was in love, and he insinuated that I would never be a woman who would be desirable to any man. He then took his leave."

A smirk formed on Elizabeth's face. "I would imagine he is now repining that decision, considering the events of the past weeks."

Mr. Darcy forced down his rage and gave her a half smile. "I do not doubt it, Miss Bennet. Though I do know enough of him to know that he would never have been that patient, even had he known of it. And his wife and her inheritance provided him with a number of years of his dissipated lifestyle, and she died under suspicious circumstances. I would certainly never wish that of you."

Although saddened to hear it, Elizabeth was not surprised, considering the depths to which the man had sunk only the previous day.

"Now you know the entirety of my history with Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy. I was a silly girl, and I hope you do not think ill of me for being so."

Mr. Darcy rose abruptly from his seat and began pacing agitatedly. "Miss Bennet, you cannot believe that I feel anything but the utmost regard for you. The mistakes of a fifteen-year-old can be embarrassing, but as a young and sheltered woman, you can hardly be held to the same standard as an adult with years of experience."

"I suppose not, sir," said Elizabeth with a sigh. "It was a traumatic experience for me, and it has taken me all this time to get over it. Even yesterday's events—frightening as they were—are not as scarring as those when I first met Mr. Wickham."

Stopping, Mr. Darcy gazed at her, and Elizabeth fancied she could see his heart in his eyes. He approached her, and bending down to one knee beside the settee on which she sat, he gathered her hands in his own.

"May I hope that I have had some small hand in your reclamation, Miss Bennet?"

Tears sprung up in her eyes. "You may, sir. In fact, I believe that until you appeared in my life I was quite content to live in a bitterness of spirit, believing that all men were inherently evil. I am glad to know that those bleak years are over."

"If I have anything to say in the matter, I assure you that they shall never even be remembered," said Mr. Darcy.

He then took a deep breath and stared in her eyes. "I must tell you, Miss Bennet, that I am thankful for Mr. Wickham's lack of foresight. Indeed, you are a woman without peer, and the fact that he is incapable of seeing past his own interest and vices is nothing more than my gain. I am completely and utterly bewitched by your beauty, your compassion, and your zest for life. There is nothing I would like better than to spend the rest of my life making you happy, and I beg you to accept my hand in marriage, for I love you so very dearly."

By this time, tears were streaming down Elizabeth's face, but she calmed herself enough to assure him—almost coherently—that she welcomed his attentions and wished nothing more than to be his wife.

An expression of delight spread over his features, but he cast a concerned eye on Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet, I wish to ensure that you are accepting me for the proper reasons. While I welcome your gratitude, I would not have that as a basis for a marriage. I love you so very dearly and hope that you can feel the same for me in your heart—nothing else will do."

Smiling through her tears, Elizabeth grasped one of his hands to her heart. "And I assure you, sir, that my feelings are a match for yours. I love you so very dearly."

Though perhaps it was not completely proper, Elizabeth allowed herself to be drawn to his breast, and as she rested there, listening to his heartbeat, she reflected that there was a time when she never would have expected such an ending to her history with Mr. Wickham. Here, truly, was the best of men, and she could never count herself as anything but the most fortunate that he loved her.

"I believe I have loved you for some time you, Elizabeth," she heard him say. "But I am most curious as to the genesis of your own feelings. Can you account for it?"

"I hardly know, Mr. Darcy—"

"William," interjected he.

"William," repeated Elizabeth dutifully. "As I was saying, we have spent such time in one another's company—from the time in Hertfordshire, to the events we attended together in London—that I am unable to name an exact time or place when I fell in love.

"However," continued Elizabeth with some of her old playfulness, "I am almost certain I can claim to have loved you from the time I threw that book at you in the library."

Mr. Darcy through back his head and laughed. "A curious way of showing your love, indeed."

"Understandable when you consider my history and my inability to get past my time with Mr. Wickham."

A finger across her mouth silenced her. "Let us leave that man in the past, Elizabeth."

"I agree, Mr. Darcy."

At length, they stood to leave the room—Elizabeth had a number of sisters who had worried for her and were even now waiting impatiently for her news. Elizabeth was content—she finally felt as though she had returned home.


	87. Chapter LXXXVII

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Darcy proposes. Elizabeth accepts.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXVII**

"What? No! That cannot be!" shrieked a voice that Georgiana later decided sounded very much like a goose whose tail feathers had just been plucked. "Miss Bennet, you are a conniver, a bewitching minx, a—a consummate fortune-hunter! You have endeavored not only to entrap my nephew—which is the most heinous of acts for a woman of your lowly stature—but also to place your greedy little hands on Rosings!" Lady Catherine was less than pleased about the announcement that her nephew and Elizabeth Bennet were now engaged.

Georgiana could not help but wince at her aunt's outburst, and she turned to her brother to see his reaction.

Though he managed to keep calm, he told Lady Catherine in a firm voice: "I should first like to remind you that Miss Bennet is the daughter of a gentleman. Secondly, I should like to note that the clause of Sir Lewis's will was shrouded in secrecy, and Miss Bennet therefore could not have known about the bequeathing of Rosings to her. She did not even know about the familial connection." His expression grew hard. "I shall finally remind you of something else this time and never again. As you are no longer the head of this household, you are not allowed to speak to Miss Bennet however you choose under this roof. And as Miss Bennet is now my fiancée, I expect you to treat her with every courtesy belonging to my future wife, lest you discover that both Miss Bennet and I have the power to make your present life very uncomfortable indeed. Do I make myself clear?"

Georgiana stared at her brother in awe. There had been something very commanding in his tone, and it had been enough even to intimidate the ever-belligerent Lady Catherine.

Her brother repeated his last question once more, and Lady Catherine—who appeared to have deflated—muttered: "Yes, nephew." Maintaining some small shred of dignity, she muttered something that might have been well wishes before walking from the room. Yet there was a certain sense of pride missing from her step that made Georgiana almost feel pity for the woman. Lady Catherine had lost her daughter and was now losing her home and matriarchal position. And her overbearing nature meant that she had made no friends. Still, Lady Catherine had carved out her lonely place in the world by choice. There was no turning back now.

The other occupants of the room—glad that a possible crisis had been averted—almost all appeared to breathe a sigh of relief, and then the happy congratulations poured in. Georgiana watched as Elizabeth Bennet's sisters went to her and expressed their great joy. They appeared so close and content that Georgiana felt a pang of sadness that she had not had a sister while growing up.

Turning, she watched as Colonel Fitzwilliam slapped her brother on the shoulder. "Well, Darcy ol' boy, I am glad to see you came to your senses. Miss Baker was not the right one for you—she was meant for a different sort of fellow."

"I would like to second that," said Mr. Bingley jovially. "You shall be very happy indeed with your chosen bride."

"I know," said her brother. "I shall be a very happy man."

As Georgiana stared at him, she realized he was already a very happy man. Something about Elizabeth Bennet had the power to make his face light up in a way that nothing else could. He had frequently been somber and duty-focused since the death of their parents, and Georgiana found she was happy to see that at last he had done something for himself—had done something that would bring him joy.

Her brother noticed her standing a slight ways off, and he excused himself and pulled her to the side. "Georgiana," said he gently, "I would like to speak with you."

She gave a slight nod and waited for him to begin.

"I did consider your feelings before proposing to Miss Bennet. Yet I had to let myself do what I had been fighting against—I had to follow my heart. But I need to know that you shall treat her as she deserves, Georgiana. She will be family."

By this time, Georgiana's eyes had filled with tears. She lunged forward and put her arms around her brother. "Oh, William, of course I shall treat her properly! I love you dearly, and I _do_ wish for you to be happy. I wish I had not caused you such trouble!"

Her brother embraced her lightly back. "I am glad to hear that, Georgiana. I dearly care for you as well."

Steadying herself, Georgiana pulled away and gave her brother a slight smile. Then, though still slightly shaky, she walked over to Miss Bennet, who was laughing with her sisters and paused at the sight of her, as if unsure what to expect.

Georgiana took in a deep breath and then embraced her lightly before pulling away. "I shall be glad to you call you my sister, Miss Bennet. I know you bring my brother great joy."

Elizabeth—to Georgiana's surprise—smiled back at her and said: "We have plenty of time to begin anew. But please, call me 'Elizabeth.' After all, we shall be sisters, remember?"

"All right, Elizabeth," said Georgiana shyly. "But you must call me 'Georgiana.'"

"I should be delighted," said Elizabeth with a slight laugh. And then, she and her sisters commenced their excited talking. Yet they were certain to include Georgiana, asking her for her opinion and seeking her advice. And Georgiana's spirits began to lighten, and she began to feel better than she had in quite some time.


	88. Chapter LXXXVIII

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. We are coming into the home stretch—only one more chapter and the epilogue left to go!

**Previously:** Darcy and Elizabeth are congratulated by the residents of Rosings.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXVIII**

Perhaps the most difficult task to undertake after the engagement was the necessity of informing the Bakers—or, more specifically, Elia Baker—of Elizabeth and Darcy's change in status. Elizabeth knew—and had known for some time—of Elia's interest in Mr. Darcy, and she was aware that the woman would not take his rejection well.

Still, in conversation with Mr. Darcy soon after the engagement was formalized—though it was still not _truly_ formalized, as there still remained the necessity of obtaining her father's permission—Mr. Darcy told her of his intention to inform Elia in person, citing the previous attentions he had paid to her. There was no gentle or easy way of doing it, and he insisted that he owed at least that much to her.

As it happened, Elizabeth agreed with him, knowing how she would feel if their situations had been reversed. And though Elizabeth had never suspected Elia of actually being in love with Mr. Darcy, she knew this would still be a bitter pill for the woman to swallow.

What Elizabeth could not agree on was Mr. Darcy's determination to inform Elia Baker by himself. That would never do, she declared, and she had instantly resolved on accompanying him on his visit to Stauneton Hall and facing Elia's certain displeasure by his side. Let it never be said that Elizabeth could not face a woman who had intended to be in her position!

They were shown into the morning sitting room of Staunteton Hall and were immediately greeted by James Baker, who sported a wide smile on his face. Elizabeth instantly recognized that he was aware of what had taken place, and she worried that he would say something to make this endeavor even more difficult than it already was. She had, after all, noticed of his apparent antipathy and sometimes downright distaste for his own sister.

Her worry was unfounded to a certain extent, however, as he merely stood and greeted them warmly. "Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet, welcome to Stauneton Hall. And if I may, I would like to take the opportunity to congratulate you—I am very glad you have finally seen what the rest of us have for many weeks!"

Elizabeth colored slightly and, gathering herself, thanked him for his wishes while sneaking a look at his sister. Elia was nonplussed at his declaration, clearly curious as to what he could be referring.

Apparently aware of the woman's confusion—and the potential for an embarrassing outburst—Mr. Darcy took immediate control of the situation.

"Miss Baker, how do you do?" said he while bowing.

"I am tolerably well, Mr. Darcy," responded Miss Baker, for once appearing to forget her affected manners.

They sat down, and tea was ordered, but Mr. Darcy did not wait to make his announcement. "Miss Baker, Mr. Baker—Miss Bennet and I have come today to inform you of a recent development at Rosings Park, though Mr. Baker appears to have anticipated us."

With a sly look at his sister, Mr. Baker allowed that he had. "Even if it had not already been quite obvious, Darcy, I spoke with your cousin, and he was positively a font of information."

"Fitzwilliam needs to learn to hold his tongue," grumbled Mr. Darcy, though he did not appear to be especially displeased.

By now, Elia's fiddling with her handkerchief in her lap was becoming somewhat agitated. She glared at her brother with some displeasure, even while she simpered at Mr. Darcy: "I am all agog, Mr. Darcy. Though my brother was regretfully thoughtless in neglecting to mention this news, now you can impart it to me directly." She batted her eyelashes at him coquettishly. "Please do enlighten me."

Though Mr. Darcy appeared as though he would prefer to do anything but that, he gamely smiled at her and made his announcement:

"Miss Baker, it is my privilege and great joy to inform you that I have requested, and obtained, Miss Elizabeth Bennet's hand in matrimony."

Elia's eyes widened comically, and her mouth gaped with astonishment. Her mouth quickly tightened into a firm line, however, and Elizabeth watched as the woman clenched her handkerchief tightly and twisted it in her rage.

"Come now, Elia," said Mr. Baker in a jovial tone. "Can you not wish Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy joy? You must have seen how close they were becoming." He laughed. "I daresay this was the most ill-kept secret in the area!"

Mastering herself, Elia plastered an insincere smile upon her face and peered at Elizabeth. "How... fortunate for you, Miss Bennet. You are very much to be envied."

Aware that anything she could say would be considered a provocation at this point, Elizabeth determined to respond simply. "Thank you, Miss Baker. I am very happy."

Elia sniffed. "Oh, yes, I can see that."

Elizabeth certainly did not miss the sarcasm and displeasure which laced Elia's statement, but she was spared from responding when tea was delivered. The four sat conversing for some time, and though Elia had very little to add to the discourse, her lack was more than made up by the loquacity of her brother. Elizabeth did not miss the animation of the brother, though, nor the sly looks he directed in Elia's direction, all of which she affected not to notice—she could not in good conscience agree with Mr. Baker's continual baiting of his sister, but she knew on some level that Elia invited it with her behavior.

At length, complaining that the pastries were not up to her standards, Elia left to speak with the housekeeper. It was not a few moments before the housekeeper returned, and after glancing at the mistress in some consternation, she announced to Mr. Baker that his steward wished to speak with him regarding a matter of some importance.

"Is that so?" queried he with a knowing grin. "In that case, I suppose I shall have to take my leave."

He stood and bowed to Elizabeth. "Fear not, Miss Bennet, for I shall return directly."

"Oh, do take Mr. Darcy with you, brother," simpered Elia. "Surely the matter with your steward is much more interesting to a man such as Mr. Darcy than our discussion regarding Miss Elizabeth's... good fortune. And if the talk turns to fashions and lace, I do not doubt the poor man shall be bored to tears!"

The two men regarded her skeptically, but she merely gazed back at them with that placid, vacant expression which she seemed to have perfected. Knowing that Elia wished to have her say and feeling that it would be best to be done with it, Elizabeth smiled at Mr. Darcy, indicating her assent. She almost laughed as they exchanged a wry glance—carefully concealed from Miss Baker, of course—before Mr. Darcy rose and, bowing to the ladies, followed his friend from the room.

But whatever Elizabeth had been expecting from her companion, complete silence would not have made the list. The woman appeared quite content to sit and sip her tea in silence, completely ignoring her guest. Feeling that two could easily play that game, Elizabeth sat quietly with her own tea, determined not to surrender to what she now considered to be a very bitter and ill-mannered woman.

They sat in this attitude for perhaps five minutes before Miss Baker finally unsheathed her claws.

"Well, Miss Bennet, it appears that you have certainly risen in the world. Imagine—from a country miss of no consequence, to mistress of Rosings, to the fiancée of the inestimable Mr. Darcy, all in the space of less than a month. What an extraordinary conquest for you!"

"I believe you ascribe far too much credit to my ability to control events," replied Elizabeth evenly. "I certainly could not control the actions of Sir Lewis—I did not even know of the connection a month ago!—nor did I 'conquer' Mr. Darcy as you have insinuated. Ours is a relationship which has grown now for many months, and as you are aware, I now have no need to marry for anything but pure inclination, being financially secure."

Elia snorted with derision. "So you think me ignorant of the way you have thrown yourself at him as a Jezebel long before you came into your inheritance?"

"I assure you that I have done nothing of the sort."

"And I assure you that I am aware of the type of woman you are! How else could you succeed in stealing away _my Mr. Darcy_ from his rightful match?"

"You presume far too much, Miss Baker," responded Elizabeth. The woman was insufferable—it was almost like speaking with another Lady Catherine! "If you had listened to his aunt, _Miss Anne de Bourgh_ was his only rightful match!"

"You speak as though my Fitzwilliam would marry such a colorless little mouse such as Miss de Bourgh was!" The sarcasm in her voice had reached new heights, as had the unpleasant nature of her sneer. "I assure you, Miss Bennet, that until you you employed your dubious charms and flirtations, Mr. Darcy was on the verge of making an offer to me."

"Mr. Darcy proposed to _me_, Miss Baker. As a woman, I have no say in the matter of who proposes to me, nor did I _steal_ him."

Rage flared in Elia's eyes, and she only controlled it with some difficulty. "Miss Bennet, regardless of your recent... _elevation_, you are still and will always be an insignificant little country miss, completely unsuited for the rigors of fine society."

"And with this display, I cannot see that _you are!_"

"I am descended from a duke, Miss Bennet!" was Elia's haughty reply.

"And I am descended from the de Bourghs, an old and established line," snapped Elizabeth. "Your descent means nothing when it is not accompanied by a sense of responsibility, respect for your fellow man, and compassion."

"What would _you_ know of nobility?" sneered Miss Baker. "I have it on reliable information that you were brought up in squalor. Regardless of your elevation, you cannot escape your roots."

By this time, Elizabeth had had enough of Elia's attacks, but she could not quit the room without one final comment. "I am assured that you know nothing of my upbringing, Miss Baker, so I shall not linger on the subject. However, I shall tell you that Mr. Darcy and I were drawn together by our common interests, our respect for each other, and by the assurance that we would be well-matched and happy together. Nothing was done in an underhanded manner, nor did either of us entrap the other into marriage.

"Besides," continued she with a withering glare, "I cannot imagine you would entice Mr. Darcy into matrimony with nothing more than an affectedly empty head and flirtatious manners. If you understood Mr. Darcy at all, you would know that he prizes honesty and integrity above all, something which you have never shown him!"

Elia gasped, and her face became purple in rage. "How dare you!"

"Not nearly as much as you would dare, I should think," was Elizabeth's flippant response.

"Now, Miss Baker," continued Elizabeth before Elia could formulate a reply, "I must beg leave to return to Rosings with Mr. Darcy. The atmosphere in this room has grown quite oppressive."

"I am _not_ finished with you!" snarled Elia while rising to grasp Elizabeth's arm.

"_Yes, you are!_" rang out the voice of Mr. Darcy.

Startled, Elizabeth and Elia both turned toward the voice. Mr. Darcy stood in the door with Mr. Baker, his face, his posture, his very being radiating a fierce displeasure.

"Come, Elizabeth, we shall leave now. I shall not allow you to be abused in such a manner."

As Elizabeth began to move, she felt rather than saw Elia's rage become an almost physical entity, and as such, she was not surprised to hear the woman's final sally.

"I simply cannot believe you have been taken in by this... this... impostor, Mr. Darcy! How can you countenance this? It goes against your duty, your honor, and even your character to pay such attentions to a Jezebel such as this. I simply cannot imagine how far you have fallen! Were you not about to make your intentions known to me?"

There was a desperate, pleading quality to her voice, which Elizabeth recognized as her last plea to her erstwhile suitor. One glance at Mr. Darcy's face told Elizabeth all she needed to know—he was not amused or moved in the slightest.

"Impostor, Miss Baker? I suppose you would know all about impostors, as you have been one the entire time of our acquaintance. I admit I was taken in by your affected silliness, and it amused me for a time, but I am happy to say that I found someone possessed of much more substance than your artificiality.

"And for the record, Miss Baker, I never paid you any improper attentions, nor did I make any promises to you—your imaginations of our impending engagement are nothing more than your own delusions. I shall marry Miss Bennet, for I love her so very dearly."

The tender expression on his face caused Elizabeth to catch her breath in her throat. She approached him and grasped the hand which was extended to her, blushing when he bent to kiss hers tenderly. He tucked her hand into the space between his arm and his body before turning to Mr. Baker.

"Thank you, Baker, for your hospitality, but I believe the time has come for our departure."

"Indeed, Darcy," said Baker, though his gaze never left his sister. "I apologize for the scene we just witnessed and more especially to you, Miss Bennet, for my sister's words. I believe it is time we discussed her behavior."

They assured him that they were happy to visit and that it was not his fault, and then they exited. On the way out, they could hear his raised voice berating his sister for her behavior. Elizabeth almost felt sorry for the woman—almost.


	89. Chapter LXXXIX

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback!

**Previously:** Elia Baker learns about Darcy and Elizabeth's engagement, and she expresses her displeasure.

* * *

**Chapter LXXXIX**

Despite the onslaught of recent events, neither Darcy nor Bingley could forget there was one important duty they had yet to perform. Though each man was loathe to part with his newly betrothed, they resolved to journey to Hertfordshire to request the blessing of Mr. Bennet.

As Mr. Bennet was frequently reclusive due to his health, neither Darcy nor Bingley was especially comfortable at the thought of approaching him, though it was to be said that Bingley was somewhat less skilled in hiding his nervousness than Darcy.

The long trip was made, however, and after many grueling hours of travel, they were at last standing in front of Longbourn.

Bingley threw a look at Darcy. "Are you prepared for this, Darcy?"

Darcy gave his friend a slight smile. "Mr. Bennet has five daughters, Bingley. I am certain he has been expecting a day such as this would come eventually."

"I suppose you are right. Let us go then."

The door was answered, and they were shortly shown into Mr. Bennet's study.

As they entered, Darcy immediately noted the amused smile on the older man's face.

"Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy! I must confess, Mr. Bingley, that I have expected to receive a personal visit from you for some time now. But I am surprised to see you, Mr. Darcy. Have you come to support your friend?"

Darcy sensed a kindred spirit in Mr. Bennet at that moment, and he continued to carry the lighthearted tone held by the father of the love of his life: "In actuality, we are here for the same purpose, Mr. Bennet. Would you like to handle us together or one at a time?"

Mr. Bennet sat blinking in surprise for several moments, likely uncertain as to whether there was an element of seriousness beneath the humor. But Darcy met his gaze, and Mr. Bennet evidently determined at last that he was sincere, for Mr. Bennet said: "Well, I have my doubts as to whether I could successfully take on both of you at once, so I shall first handle the man whom I suspect shall be easiest—Mr. Bingley."

After acknowledging Mr. Bennet's wish, Darcy went out into the hallway. Mr. Bennet was so frequently sequestered from the world that he likely had no knowledge of Darcy's attachment to Elizabeth—certainly, Darcy had fought against his growing feelings for the young woman quite strongly for a while. Now, he was beginning to have some doubts as to the outcome of his conversation with the man. Would Mr. Bennet believe Darcy had coerced Elizabeth into accepting a proposal? Surely he knew his daughter better than that!

Darcy shook his head and smiled at himself. He was merely experiencing the apprehensions of many young men before him. He was a man of high standing in the community—he had no reason to worry.

When Bingley at last exited, he was looking quite cheerful. "He is ready for you, Darcy. Dearest Jane is now mine, and I am certain Miss Bennet shall soon be yours."

After congratulating his friend, Darcy stepped into the study. He was motioned to sit, which he commenced to do.

Mr. Bennet stared hard at him for perhaps a minute before speaking. "Now, perhaps you will tell me what this business of yours is here. Jane has already been spoken for, and I know you are a man of far too much understanding to be interested in the silly of antics of my youngest daughter."

"It is your eldest daughter whom I wish to speak with you about—I have come to ask for her hand in marriage."

Mr. Bennet gazed at him for a few seconds more before exhaling heavily. "A part of me suspected as much, though I am still quite surprised." His countenance took on a somewhat dark look as he continued:

"While I do of course care for all of my daughters, I must confess to a particular regard for Elizabeth. Her wit and humor quite often provide a good counterpoint to my own, and her love of reading was inherited from me.

"I do not hold the future of Elizabeth lightly, Mr. Darcy. As it was within my power, I have bequeathed Rosings unto her, and I did so with great joy, for she has experienced some great sorrows in the past that I feared might have lasting effects on her future."

"If you speak of Mr. Wickham," said Mr. Darcy, startling even himself as he spoke up, "I can assure you that she shall no longer have to see that scoundrel ever again."

"You surprise me again, Mr. Darcy, but I am certainly pleased to hear that information. Still, I am not quite convinced of your suitability for my favorite daughter. Are you well read? Are you able to challenge her mind?"

"The library at Pemberley is one of which to be proud, and I daresay even you should be impressed. Your daughter and I have had many discussions about literature in the Rosings library, and while she challenges me to look at certain books with a new perspective, I, too, am able to bring new eyes to her. I have fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with your daughter over these past months, and she has helped me to become a better man. Too often did I let myself lapse into brooding in the past—but now I have started to experience the same zest for life which so fills your daughter entirely.

"I care deeply for your eldest daughter, Mr. Bennet, and I am certain she cares for me. I can promise you that I shall fight to my dying breath to make her happy."

"And you have spoken with Elizabeth? You are aware that she could not find happiness without a spouse whom she can love and respect?"

"I have asked her to marry me, and she has accepted. With the estate you gave her, any pressure she might have felt to marry and help her situation dissipated. We meet as equals, and we equally cherish and admire each other."

Mr. Bennet smiled. "Very well, Mr. Darcy. I am convinced. You have my consent to marry my daughter—though I doubt I should honestly have been able to refuse a man of your stature anything."

Darcy's apprehension took flight like a startled bird, and he felt his heart fill with joy at the thought that every obstacle which had stood between his and Elizabeth's happiness was now gone.

As he joined Bingley, he knew that both he and his friend were facing utter contentment. They had finally secured their futures with the women they loved, and naught but joy stood before them.


	90. Chapter XC

**A/N:** Well, this is it, folks. Waiting for an Echo finally reaches its conclusion in this chapter. And though we both feel a sense of accomplishment, to a certain extent, we will both miss it. A very warm thanks to all who followed, commented, laughed and cried along with us.

**Previously:** Bingley and Darcy apply for Mr. Bennet's consent to marry Jane and Elizabeth.

* * *

**Chapter XC**

Ten years later, Elizabeth Darcy sat in the confines of her private study at Pemberley, attending to her letters and reflecting upon her life. The years after their wedding had been kind to the Darcys. Their lives together were filled with life and love, and though they disagreed often (after all, two such strong-willed individuals could not help but disagree frequently), their arguments were always short in duration, and their reconciliations all the sweeter.

On that morning, however, Elizabeth's thoughts turned to the preceding years. Those dark years after the first appearance of Wickham, she had often despaired, thinking herself unmarriageable due to her jaded view of men, and she had been determined to never allow herself to be vulnerable again. But somehow a different man had burrowed his way into her life and affections and shown her how to once again live her life.

Sifting through the piles of correspondence, Elizabeth came across a letter she had recently received from her father. Mr. Bennet had continued to be a dilatory correspondent, but with her—his favorite daughter—he was marginally better. His recent letter was much the same as the man had always been, and an odd mixture of his sardonic wit, and his love for his family shone through in the missive. In particular, he related the recent antics of his eldest grandchild, a precocious child of ten summers who was now his heir to Longbourn.

It was a good thing, Elizabeth mused, that Mary had given birth to a boy rather than a girl, and it was even more fortunate that Mary had found true love upon returning to Longbourn after the birth of her child. Mr. Phelps had been a clerk of her Uncle Phillips, and though the man had not been gently born, his intelligence had been such that he had taken over management of Longbourn with a certain flair which her father had never possessed. He positively doted upon his adoptive son, and though he and Mary had not been blessed with children of their own—perhaps a blessing due to Mary's difficulty with her son—he appeared to have no cause to repine.

This of course allowed Mr. Bennet the ability to wile away his days in his library or spend them with his grandson, all without the associated guilt of not increasing the production on the estate. And though Mr. Bennet always remained in somewhat indifferent health, he had, thus far, defied the doctor's prediction, and he had lived to see several of his grandchildren born.

Mrs. Bennet was much as she had ever been—silly and flighty, even though her future was now assured with her children married and her grandson as the heir to her home. Though he had never mentioned it, Elizabeth suspected her husband was relieved that Mrs. Bennet would never have to leave Longbourn—living with her would be far too much for him to take!

Of the other Bennet sisters, Jane had of course married Mr. Bingley about a month before Elizabeth's own nuptials. Bingley, having given up the lease on Netherfield during his time in London, had purchased an estate in a neighboring shire to Derbyshire, affording the sisters the ability to meet more often than would otherwise have been the case. Jane had already given birth to five children—a sixth was on the way—including both the heir and spare so shrilly demanded by her mother.

Kitty had indeed married Mr. Baker, and they had taken up residence in James's estate. Mr. Baker had made a complete change in his character, and he positively doted on Kitty and his two children. Kitty, far from being disabled, managed her home with great flair, proving that she was as capable as anyone. And though Elizabeth missed her sister due to the distance, she was happy that Kitty had managed to make such a match.

Thoughts of Kitty always brought thoughts of Kitty's sister-in-law, and Elizabeth smirked as she considered the former Elia Baker. The woman had been seriously offended when Elizabeth had married Darcy, and her vitriol had been loud and vicious and a serious trial to her brother, who had been in the middle of trying to woo his own Bennet sister.

It was not until after the wedding that Elizabeth had discovered Colonel Fitzwilliam's feelings for the woman, a fact which he had confided to his cousin during a night of excessive drinking. After he had sobered up, he had requested—and was granted—permission to stay at Rosings indefinitely in order to further his attempts at wooing Elia. He resigned his commission and took up permanent residence there soon after the wedding.

However, events did not proceed as he had planned. He was patient, loving, and kind, but Elia by this time had turned into a bitter shrew, jealous and resentful of almost everyone around her. The good colonel put up with her temper for almost six months before he finally decided he had had enough. On a fine spring day, he had saddled his horse and ridden to Stauneton Hall and laid his case out to Elia. He had once again declared her feelings for her and urged her to let go of her bitterness.

Elia's response was acerbic and completely predictable. Apparently, however, the colonel had foreseen this and, as soon as her diatribe had lost his momentum, proceeded to throw her over his horse and ride for Gretna Green. Of that three day journey, he had never been induced to say much, but he somehow arrived at the destination with a willing—if slightly resentful—Elia Baker, and they were married in a most scandalous elopement.

She seemed to be happy with her situation now, and the Fitzwilliams had added three daughters to their family. And though Elizabeth and Elia had never become close confidants, they were at least able to meet pleasantly in company. In Elizabeth's opinion, it would never go beyond that.

As for the last Bennet daughter, Lydia's story was perhaps the most flamboyant, which was certainly in keeping with the woman herself. Lydia had spent quite a bit of time with Elizabeth after her wedding in order for Elizabeth to "knock some sense into her," as Mr. Bennet liked to say. And though Elizabeth did her best to educate her sister, in the end, it did little good.

Lydia's time as a Bennet ended rather abruptly when she eloped with an officer in the regulars, marrying in Gretna Green mere weeks after Elia's wedding. They lived primarily in Brighton until Lieutenant Carson's transfer to a regiment stationed in Halifax, Canada. The day they had left to take their ship had been the last any of the Bennet family had ever heard of their younger sister—the ship had arrived safely, but after that, the young couple had disappeared into the vast wilderness of the western continent.

As for Georgiana Darcy, the disagreements and resentments subsisting between her new sister and herself dissipated with time, and they slowly repaired the rift between them, becoming very close confidants. Georgiana had met the young man who would sweep her off her feet a few years later, and though Darcy was loathe to let go of his only sister, she found her greatest ally in her new sister. Georgiana was happily married now and living in Cornwall, the proud mother of two children.

The door to Elizabeth's study opened, and in walked her husband. Though he was now approaching forty summers, he still retained his devastating good looks and could make Elizabeth's heart race even after all the time they had been married.

"Elizabeth, my love, have you forgotten our outing?" queried he.

"No, sir," responded Elizabeth, rising to take his hand in her own. "I was just thinking about the twists and turns of our lives. We have truly been remarkably blessed."

"Yes, indeed, my dear," said her husband. "I could not have asked for a better life than the one we lead now.

"Now, come—I wish to make it to our clearing in time for luncheon."

Smiling, Elizabeth allowed her husband to take her hand and pull her from the room. It was a ritual they tried to indulge in as often as they could—it helped keep their marriage exciting and their relationship strong, and Elizabeth suspected they were considered somewhat of an oddity in how much time they spent alone in one another's company.

As they exited the room and walked the halls of Pemberley, she reflected upon the good fortune that had befallen them. They had four wonderful children, and their two boys were set to inherit two great estates. It was ironic indeed that they had united Rosings and Pemberley in marriage as Lady Catherine had wanted, though certainly not in the manner she had hoped. Lady Catherine had remained offended for some time before she had finally admitted that they made a very well-suited couple. And though she had no grandchildren of her own, she always considered the Darcy children to be such, and her loud pronouncements of how they should commit to their studies or practice the pianoforte filled the halls of Rosings whenever they visited.

She had only had the barest chance to get the life she now led, Elizabeth thought. Somehow, she had beaten the odds and managed to obtain her happiness—the love, the affection, and the companionship were all that she had ever wanted. Through it all, both she and Darcy had managed to find an echo in the heart of the other. And together they had even learned to enjoy dancing.


End file.
